Poem Instead of a Post

May 16

Years ago my mother told me that she still felt the same as she did when she was younger, but when she looked in the mirror she didn't recognize the woman looking back at her. I'm feeling some of that these days: aging well (I tell myself), but still aging, wondering how I can in some respects feel so close to who I've been throughout my life, but also feel so far away from it.

I've been reading Stilt Jack again. I do this once a year in the spring or early summer. Sat down with my coffee this morning and decided to braid two memories, of a very dark and a very happy time in my life, into something roughly ghazal-shaped.

gemlog