Wednesday, June 30, 2010

What remains?

Ten days and my thirties; gone.
I leave them behind with the
red silk boxer shorts of my twenties;
the lycra gymnastics suits of the
teens; the pre-teen lump of wires
and permanent teeth, pulled to
makes space in my small jaw;
the blue summer nighties of
my single digits, and early
bedtimes while the sun still
sat high in the sky on the eastern
North Dakota plains and my
older brothers called to their
friends, still playing a game
of Capture the Flag.

What will be left on the
curb for early pick-up? 
What remains will be 
placed in a heavy plastic
tub for storage, stacked
in the basement from these years? 
Seems so much more than a decade
of my life. A divorce, a time
of dating that I never before
had (having met my first
man when I was but 15),
watching my two older ones
go from early childhood to
teens (this happens all in 
just one decade--amazing),
and then the remarriage
and a new baby to take me
out of the last year of my
thirties. It is all pretty much
splendor. It is sacred. It
won't come again in the same
way. I can now see why
it is so important to look
for fun as you go, feeling
just groovy. Turning
towards the sun.

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