I think, technically, I may be middle-aged.
or almost
if I fold my life over
like a piece of paper
and the crease is where I am now
then one edge is seventy
or almost
I would like to get old
it’s the only way I know to stay alive
I would love to be comfortable with
a body that is becoming an autumn leaf
the lines that will become deeper etched on my face
some describe as crow’s feet
but to me
they are trenches
dug out from years of battles
little victories and larger losses
furrowed brow
laughter lines
the sketches of a work in progress
“It’s a process”
they say
well, that’s okay with me
to live
is better than the alternative
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