BRIEF PANIC ON TURNING SEVENTY

Contributor: Ruth Z Deming

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Mom said it was 80 that made her
feel old. Unstoppable, she's
now that rare bird, a

Nonagenarian, accordion
folds on her face playing
melodies of all the people
she's loved and lost

We rolled back the years
as we conversed in the
room with the fireplace
and Amy's hanging quilt

Her pain lessening each
day from the fall she
sustained on the hard
cold blacktop on the drive.

All five of her living
children did their duty
mandated by our Bible

Our numbers rose like a
good day on the stock market
to a baker's dozen

adding our voices to
the conversation of
mankind

What use am I now?
Unlike the she-elephant
who gives birth
thru her sixties

My eggs are stone dead
like an omelet stuck
to the iron grill

I pretend not to
notice my ossifying
brain, spent reading
thrillers at midnight

Watching Netflix and
listening to swaying
jazz right across
the room

As the last of the
Xmas lights sparkle
in our neighborhood

Not mine, I turned
them off and buried
them in the basement

I await the final
lights out. Oh,
keep them on, ye
few neighbors, I
gotta believe in

ole Saint Nick's
sleigh.


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Ruth Z Deming has had her poetry published in lit mags including Mad Swirl and Literary Yard. A psychotherapist, she is founder/director of New Directions, a support group for people with depression, bipolar disorder and their loved ones. She lives in Willow Grove, PA, a suburb of Philadelphia.