Old Lady

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.