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Greater times were spent before the winter solstice.
Before there were the wreckage seasons of my life;
   There was happiness all around me.
   There were strong and splendid seasons with staunch lovers.
   There were wild and gratifying seasons.
I wish that I could tilt my fate back towards the sun when I was young and beautiful, and my skin of onyx was tight and glowing under the golden sun.
When my hair wonderfully tight and curly was of; raven plume.
When my mind was of great cognitive ability, draped with intellectual rhetoric.
When in my imagination of being a protegee of Wilma Rudolph, I could run nonstop for miles and not break a sweat.
When I could curse better than any sailor and make my day against any woman or man.

Nothing about senectitude promise fulfillment.
Deep creases pronounce my thick lips and my neck looks that of the neck of a Shar-Pei.
Not even with my bifocals am I able to read.
My swollen knees pop when I move and my short trips are that of an infant. My hair is platinum and thin and masses of it glistens from my brush and comb. 
Nothing about this winter solstice lifts my spirits.
I am destined to wrap my cold and aged body with the warmth of aspiration and take my walk of today to heaven.


copyright 5, 2016 Looking At The Light From The Bottom of The Lake

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