Poem

img_20161104_164401951The poetry retreat weekend was everything I hoped for and more.

NOW

Oh, God.
When did this happen?
How did it happen?
I am old.
There is no denying
I am old.

My mirror
reflects the lines
on my face—the detritus
of laughter and worry,
of happy times and pain,
of living.

Maiden,Mother, Crone—
the seasons of life
spill across the years,
leaving souvenirs
of each one
passing.

Now?
Now is not the winter.
Now is the springtime.
Yes! I said the springtime.
Now is my spring.
Believe it!

I shed
the layers of prescription
and proscription, both,
like heavy coats and
thick, itchy
sweaters.

I wear
a diaphanous gown of lavender.
My soul shimmers.
All the shoulds peeled away.
Now, I am light.
I am light.

Now,
I am the seed
newly burst through
fertile earth,
stretch toward the sun,
and blossom—

each petal
floating
open
soft
and sweetly
scented.

Olga

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