From Rearrange, published in 2018.


You feel the gray
the chill that drains the color from your thoughts
You breathe the air
your lungs indifferent
the red of your blood turned leaden
You move
like an old person
a one-hundred-year-old person
with one-hundred-year-old feet
in concrete-heavy shoes and relying on
arthritic toes
for traction


11 thoughts on “Gray

  1. I really like the way the rhythm of this poem scaffolds its words and helps convey its message. I definitely feel more sluggish and lethargic in the cold winter months.

  2. I wonder what 100 feels like (no rush though). I remember moments of mine and companions feeling ‘old’ at 40. You capture a familiar (but fortunately not steady) ‘old’ feeling well.

  3. I’m kind of hoping I never find out about 100. It just seems like too much. Some days I feel ancient and tired and others it’s not different from how I was 40 years ago. It’s All in my head, I guess.

  4. Just read other comments and reread your poem…the heaviness of grieving does this to you…ages you…grinds you down for sure.

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