Old Lady
A poem about growing old - embrace or repel?
I notice I am fading;
I am given a dilemma =
Do I fight it?
There are things offered all the time:
Serum for this, cream for that.
All age-defying, moisture inducing
To hydrate me before I'm a husk.
But what if I don't want to defy Age?
It seems a futile battle,
Like Cnut and the waves.
They have me thinking that
Age is coming at me like a warrior
Shouting and roaring, sword blazing
Ready to carve, resplendent in ornate armour,
Eyes sharp, furious,
Hair billowing in shiny waves of platinum
As he charges towards me at speed:
(It would be a man;
A berserker.
He is strong because he has taken that from me)
His eyes defiant themselves
In the face of my primping,
Screaming!
"YOU DARE TO DEFY ME!!"
Do I dare?
That is the question.
To me, it doesn't seem daring -
In fact, the opposite.
It seems more defiant to defy the defying.
Buying into an idea presented by another,
That I must somehow preserve what I think I have
For the sake of...? Well, I'm not sure what.
I see myself in steam-induced haze
And I like the soft edges.
I am an image of myself:
Real but surreal,
A naked silhouette where shapes are blurred,
Blobbiness and lumpiness unrevealed
Dimples disguised.
I would be lying if I said I did not prefer it,
This softened reflection.
If only life could be lived in hazy Dreamvision
Like a New Romantic pop video.
But steam dissipates and who I am appears.
It's not the best but it is not the worst
I have ever seen.
This world is so transparent
That bodies are never hidden;
You can see whatever you search for
And I look average.
So I know and I ask:
What does it matter?
I am half a century old!
Older trees that have stood
For generations of humans
Become gnarled, their form an indicator
That they have endured.
This is respected.
But they are rough on their exterior
To the touch.
They may still bloom
On a rare Saturday night out
But they are solid, mature, the rocks of ages
With more life than rocks,
Full of rising sap.
I'm trying to say this:
Age is coming to get me
And will win.
He is more determined to come
Than I am to stave him off.
But I will not surrender to Age
And his limitations.
He can have me, as he will,
But on my terms.
My fight is in body, not beauty.
I will not concede to vanity -
My lines and lumps are my own.
I WILL take care of me
In my own sweet way.
I want to live long;
I want to be present;
I want to feel good in this skin I am in.
Am I just a vessel for this spirit?
Maybe, but I like this incarnation
And I want to remain shipshape
And solid for weddings and travel
And love and laughter
And joyous future moments,
That will stamp their lines on me
Around my eyes and my mouth
Until the weight of their experience and vitality
Makes me sag with their fullness.
I will not wither and I will not see Age
As my usurper
But will be sculpted
And grooved by Age's hands
Like he is a master artist,
Sensually and with care and attention.
The temporary support of a serum may help -
But if Age takes no account of lack of lines
Or pinkness of cheek
When Death is his henchman
And Gravity his sidekick
He'll come for me no matter how I look.
I'm not going to worry.
Let Age come.
Ah, and here he is.
About the Creator
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Comments (17)
Very well written! Bright side is: you're younger than me!
Excellent poem. He's coming for all of us.
Wonderful poem and we have just featured it on this weeks OLD thread is VSS and would for you to join us there are share your work https://www.facebook.com/groups/376191867241324/permalink/1088265306033973?locale=en_GB
I've long wondered about those who are determined to leave behind a good looking corpse. To me it seems as though they want to appear as though they had never lived, loved, or cared for anyone but themselves--& hadn't even allowed themselves to live. Let me boast the of the scars & the burdens borne. Then allow me to evanesce.
We can run but we can never hide. Age is the master seeker in the game of hide and seek. Also, I learnt a mew word from you, shipshape! Loved your poem!
I’m there- sculpted and grooved, in it to win it, aged and moving, always moving! Good job!
Oof. Felt this one. So many (many) good lines in this. Love this so much.
Really great piece, Rachel! Loved the assertion “I WILL take care of me” I’m looking forward to getting my gray hairs from life itself and not from stressful worrying about hiding them or the other signs of aging. I’ve had good laugh lines since 20 and I wear them like a badge of honor
I understand the tremendous pressure which is placed on people in this day and age, to look a certain way or maintain a certain shape. Yet, you said it perfectly when you said: 'Of joyous future moments, That will stamp their lines on me' There's a lot to be said for 'growing old' gracefully. This was a beautiful read.
Rd - I yam what I yam...and that's all that I yam. Mom once told me if I dye my grey-hair people won't recognize me once I go al-la-carte. Especially in ones' boudoir. Jb
Hey Rachel, glad that getting old doesn't scare you. They say age is just but a number. It doesn't matter..I loved your poem 😊
This poem inspired my https://shopping-feedback.today/poets/the-red-carpet-nuql0h8i%3C/span%3E%3C/span%3E%3C/span%3E%3C/a%3E. But after reading hers, it's just an "also-ran."
At 72, I now know age is the rug I've been walking on all this time, and it's being pulled out from under me--ever so slowly. (Uh-oh, sounds like a spark for a new poem...hmmm...). Gravity is his sidekick--perfect way to describe age's toll on both the insides (Death) and the outsides (gravity). Very nice.
As a fifty-year-old scribbler, I can tell you to embrace life and enjoy everything you can. Thank you for this!
The courage to age will lead to aging well. This is an absolutely wonderful poem that speaks to the philosophy that my wife and I share. Aging well is taking care of ourselves, mind, body and spirit. There is much still to do and see, and people to love and connect with. In addition to the poems profundity, you also added dashes of humor. I especially loved this - As he charges towards me at speed: (It would be a man; A berserker. I love that you know what a berserker is! Congratulations for turning 50 years young! May you live a long, vibrant and loving life!
What an excellent poem… you’re such a spring chicken! A few short years/ decades ago, a male friend was so depressed about being over the hill at 30!😵💫… I thought it was hilarious, even then. ‘ I WILL take care of me In my own sweet way. I want to live long; I want to be present; I want to feel good in this skin I am in. Am I just a vessel for this spirit? Maybe, but I like this incarnation And I want to remain shipshape.’ Well put! If we’re in good health, age is largely irrelevant… tho’ he will come eventually.🥹
Rachel, Chum! This is outstanding. A rallying cry...an anthem...for not giving into death, but not trying to meet ridiculous and stupid beauty standards. The tree references, the Cnut bit (my mind rearranged that which gave an extra grin), the New Romantic nod, just everything was so well executed, well placed, well chosen and resonates so deeply and has a universal feel even if it's your own personal thoughts and feelings. Also, that picture is awesome. And, wtf, you're 50? You go girl!