Gray

GRAY

I love to scowl in the mirror and see my grandmother slowly coming back to life in me.

My body throws up surprises, and I watch with the fascinated horror of a prepubescent child.

I shrink and grow and change, like a caterpillar without a sheltering chrysalis.

Who needs a chrysalis when no one looks at me?

I am a social ninja.

No one cares enough to judge me. I go where I want, weigh what I want, say what I want.

Until the gnarled tree of my body turns from vehicle to prison.

Knees gone, hips gone, mind flirting behind a veil ever more opaque.

When it’s gone I won’t know what I’ve lost.

My freedom slowly fading until I’m a child again, drooling and mute.

A spectre that scared me once. Nowadays I laugh at death.

I’ve been through too much to be afraid any more: not of you, mr reaper; not of what dreams may come, not of losing myself.

I exist.

Don’t send me back to the awkward, shining days of adolescence, or the perfectly-shaved calf legs of early adulthood. Don’t make me start a career again, and fight so hard to be more, earn more, do more.

I’m done. Floating on a tide that takes me farther and farther from anything that can hurt me.

The colour long since leached from my hair, I spend my few coins on autumnal brilliance: pink and green and purple.

Defying the dark—not with a battle, but with laughter.

My hair beneath the dye is a silver crown, hard-won, and it rests easy upon my head.

No golden crown for me. I didn’t win every fight, but I lasted longer than most.

Gold is too heavy anyway.

These days I rest easy, turning gently into the ones I loved long ago.

I’m unafraid to soon become the earth.