Contributor: Ann Christine Tabaka

- -
I can no longer say
“when I grow old.”
I am here.
I have reached the
point of life where
penumbras close in,
where night follows day
leaving evening behind.

Looking in the mirror,
a stranger stares back
at me with vacant eyes
and pewter hair.
Once stylish clothes
now hang limp and twisted,
on a body of the same -
limp and twisted.

My words now jejune,
I write for the dust.
Parlor games and puzzles
fill my muddled day,
as memories lapse,
and I doze into a dream.

Brittle bones and
aching joints
join the heartache
of lost loves.
All crumble out of an
existence that once
held vibrant joy.

What used to matter,
no longer does.
Pretty is just a word.
Youth a distant fantasy.
A life of repentance
follows me as I enter
the shadowed years.


- - -
Ann Christine Tabaka was nominated for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry, has been internationally published, and won poetry awards from numerous publications. She lives in Delaware, USA. She loves gardening and cooking. Chris lives with her husband and three cats.