Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

There's more rust in my joints than ever.
My bones sound like an old screen door,
and my knees predict the weather
better than any app.
Give me elastic waistbands, soft slippers,
and the creak of a recliner
that groans every time I sit.
Bring on the grandkids with sticky fingers
leaving fingerprints on the walls,
and loud toys that play the same song
again and again.
Pile on the mismatched furniture,
the frayed edges, the cracked plates,
and the joy of holding on to anything
that brings back a memory.
Let my friends swap stories about their ailments,
sit on the porch with their cardigans,
and say, "Remember when?"
Let mornings be slow, with aching backs,
glasses misplaced, and coffee that’s gone cold.
Remind me of the fortune of old photos,
the wealth of crumpled coupons,
and the art of navigating
the labyrinth of nostalgia.
Forget the resolutions,
just give me the constant hum of a well-lived life.
I’ll take the bottom of the cookie jar,
the forgotten, the outgrown,
the simple things that bring comfort,
one gentle turn
on the slow-spinning wheel of age.

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