Live Every Day
Take these hands
These hands like a discarded, balled-up page
Bring me back the magic of being young
Let me hold in them things as fragile as they are
Oh I never thought that I could touch a feather, an eggshell
And be as delicate as those them selves
I want life, to be full of it
My lap if not my life to squirm
Things with fur, paws, ears, tales, and tongues
That can sit with me, rocking and twisting in joy
And perhaps an old one, who sits placidly beside me
She who I can lovingly stroke and say, "Old Dear,
You and me, we can share our troubles together."
This old body of mine
If the squeaky wheel gets the grease, I should be slicker than ice
Grunts and groans that are my voice and my sounds
Glasses that I never needed before to see my way
And I could run in a field of wild grasses
Gather an armful of sweet meadow flowers
Dance the night away, sing my heart out
Now I have to be more sensible, and old
My flowers all ordered from shops by family members
Usually "Merry Christmas," "Happy Birthday", or "Get Well Soon"
My voice is only for communication and grandchild lullabies
The days I had who I used to be are gone
The days I have now go by fast.
But who says I have to think the way I live?
I have an imagination still, I can tell stories!
I can make up stories about myself and what I can't be anymore
Unhealthy? Bah! Dwelling on the past? Maybe.
Memories, though few, can show me things I liked
Maybe people will know me better as a human being.
Not just as a woman who moved forward with time
Because I'm not just glasses, cataracts, hip replacements
Or walkers, wheelchairs, wrinkles, warm blankets
I am a person, still alive, for how long I don't know
But why should that matter, as long as I live every day with a purpose
Then whenever I'm gone, I'll have done something still.