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poem submitted to "1447 Your Choice Again" poetry contest, Brian Strand, sponsor, February 26, 2026.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Morning light finds the cracks first~ those rivers mapped by laughter, by squinting at horizons now behind me. My knees complain like rusty hinges, but they still bend. My hands, spotted with time, still remember how to write shorthand, how to cradle a newborn’s head. I collect aches like souvenirs, each one a receipt for living~ the hip that remembers the fall, the shoulder that recalls the weight of carrying someone else. The young sprint past me, their bodies loud with urgency. I linger by the lilacs, learning the art of standing still, the slow art of gathering shadows, and knowing which ones to lean into, which ones to outrun. Aging is marvelous. Aging is strange. Aging is wearing a coat that can’t be returned.
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