Silver
when your hair is aflame with winter…
As I was going through my FB feed this morning, I came across this poem and I knew, immediately, that I had to share it with you, my more than worthy readers and followers. Thank you! Click the link at the end of the poem to discover more about this wonderful writer.
Enjoy
Silver
“How many years of beauty do I have left?
she asks me.
How many more do you want?
Here. Here is 34. Here is 50.
When you are 80 years old
and your beauty rises in ways
your cells cannot even imagine now
and your wild bones grow luminous and
ripe, having carried the weight
of a passionate life.
When your hair is aflame
with winter
and you have decades of
learning and leaving and loving
sewn into
the corners of your eyes
and your children come home
to find their own history
in your face.
