She was fifty and needed
extra time to heal —
especially emotionally.
At fifty, the feelers
have already been dulling
for years, and if they haven’t
been fully numbed by now,
this is the year they will go.
midlife
49–17/20
the walls of my prison crumble
as the walls of my castle appear
Reeling
fifty hit me
a ton of bricks
insult to injury
for some body
still on the floor
under the anvil
of forty-nine
Arizona sunsets
“If I tint these pages with too many sunsets, it is not from unawareness of my weakness, but because without them a description of Arizona does not describe. In the afternoon hours, between four and eight, the country wakes and glows, and has its moment, like a woman whose youth was plain but whom middle age has touched with charm and mystery.”
—Winifred Hawkridge Dixon, Westward Hoboes: Ups and Downs of Frontier Motoring, 1921
Daze in a rut
At a certain point, some of us just sit down and watch the rest of our lives
Fallen youth
my body’s lifelong dance with gravity
has turned to wrestling match
P & L
with each passing year
spirit becomes more asset
body, liability
Un-blonde
Old Father Time fox-trots
across my golden locks!