We are your templates — a poem about growing old
When we bang on about our trips
and our memoirs and our blogs
and our grandchildren (the best of kind)
Podcasts
The rise of the new unyoung — a poem
It’s the lot of our lot to figure it out
nobody but us, the oldish,
the unyoung, the new old, can work it out
how to be the age we are
Middle age — a poem
“Middle age” became a thing
when I was middle aged
a snorty phrase
as if that dazzling time of life
is nothing, not even a noun
Teenager reclassified — a poem
“Teens” were coined when I was a teen
meaning those who were not-quite-human
yet.
If you only knew — a poem
Mother (as we called her then) had lost her friend her dear friend Verity had died and Celia was sad. Three days later in the dead of night she had a visitation. Verity stood at the end of her bed laughing and laughing and laughing and shining with delight. Celia was enraged. “How dare you […]
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