Last dance
Last kiss
Last laugh
Last chance
Last night
Last love
Last glance
Last breath…
free flow
So little
There was a time
When every word
That dropped from your lips
Was a little bit of heaven
When your presence
In this world
Was enough
To guarantee happiness
There was a time
When I waited
Breathlessly
For you to enter a room
But that was before
I knew
How little
I meant to you
There was a time
When I changed myself
To be
More like you
When all that mattered
Was your approval
Your smile
Your glance
There was a time
When everyone else
Paled into insignificance
Beside you
But that was before
I knew
How little
I meant to you
Today I move on
Without looking back
Without shedding another tear
Over a wasted love
Now there are only
Memories that fade
Sepia-toned
Into the recesses of my mind
Here I stand
A little broken
A lot stronger
Much much wiser
For if love
Only meant
Worshipping at your altar
Then you are no God to me
Because
Your arrogance
Your ignorance
Your indifference
Merely curdled
All that was
Warm loving
And good
As I walk away
From those wasted years
Of adoration
I realise…
You matter so little to me now.
*********************************
Invisible
Am I invisible
Because I am old?
Does my grey hair, my wrinkles, my painful joints
Deny me the wisdom of my years?
When I was young
You saw me
My hair was like spun gold
My body agile, fertile
But my mind was impetuous
Uninformed
Feckless
Reckless
Yet, housed as it was
In that body
You listened
You heard
Now I know
So much more
Life has taught me
Patience, gratitude, forbearance
I could tell you to
Slow down
Take a breath
Think a bit
That life is
Accumulated
Through moments that pass
Much too quickly
That being present
For yourself
For those you love
Is the most important task
That sometimes difficult days
Are given to us as an exam
To teach and test
And pass we will
That boredom is
The providence
Of the very fortunate
As is leisure
That failure
Is far better
More virtuous
Than regret
Would you listen though?
Or, would my words
Pass through you
Like milk through a sieve
Has age no meaning
Years no gravitas
Experience no value
Sagacity no usefulness?
Because here I sit
In a crowd
Of young ones
And no one hears my voice.
What?
What is it about me that scares you so?
Is it the ebony of my skin
my obsidian eyes
my gaze that defies your strictures?
What is it about me that scares you so?
Is it my history
defiled by your forefathers
the shackles that you bound mine with
the ones we broke free from?
What is it about me that scares you so?
That I’m just as human
just as deserving
just as capable of thought, action, love and pain
as you?
What is it about me that scares you so?
That when I kneel in protest
it is wrong
but when you kneel on my neck
it is somehow right?
What is it about me that scares you so?
that you are unwilling to share
the land that you live on
the food that you eat
the clothes that you wear
the air that you breathe?
What is it about me that scares you so?
Aren’t we all flesh and bone
Muscle and sinew
the only difference being
the colour of our skin?
Is that what scares you so?
Is that what scares you so?
Is that what scares you so …
So,
you suppress,
you deny,
you imprison,
you kill?
***
Is my life worth so little?
My every move
a threat
to your freedom, your ways, your beliefs
When my brothers protest
you see it as a riot
our voices are dismissed
our anger ignored
But all that you do
is justified
by laws
made by you, for you, amongst you
If we have nothing
we are faceless
voiceless
powerless
If our very lives are yours
to take
to crush
to destroy
What are we then?
What am I then?
A little bit of nothing
a whole lot of … what?
Then,
What is it about me that scares you so?
What is it?
What?
The pencil test
Yesterday
I put a pencil under my breasts
and when it didn’t fall and roll away
I cried
For in the teen magazine it said that meant my boobs weren’t perky enough
Today
I casually stick a pencil in my hair to keep my bun in place
and examine my breasts in the mirror
They sag a bit
But
they are not diseased
and they’ve been the receptacles of milk and love
they’ve fed my children
Yesterday
My legs
those skinny legs
those hairy legs
so disproportionate to the rest of me
how I hated them!
Today
those same legs have carried me
through life
through marathons
on hills and plains
through scary by lanes
I love them
Yesterday
my small hands
those stubby fingers
those grubby nails
those myriad lines on my palms
were not artistic enough
Today
they remind me
of my mother’s hands
mottled and aged
roughened with work
I see her in them
and find them beautiful
Yesterday
My nose was too big
my forehead too broad
my cheeks too chubby
my skin too brown
Today
I have lines
and wrinkles (and grey hair too)
a testimony to my past
to laughter and tears
a life well lived
Yesterday
I jumped
I ran
I swam
to get
washboard abs
Today
I have a rounded belly
a network of stretch marks
all over it
for it housed my babies
and carried them safely
how can I complain?
Yesterday
that pencil that didn’t roll away
told me
that I would never be as beautiful
as the girls in the magazines
Today
I realise
No one is.
