Saturday, October 16, 2010

At forty-nine, I'm one again
hands clenched tightly
on my lap
pretending no one notices
I look 'round
to see
what is expected
trying
to learn
the language
trying--
guessing
at
normal
This time
only FEELING
bald

2 comments:

TACParent said...

I had to read it a few times to get it. Being one and bald -- ohhhhhh. Interesting poem. It's funny how we can identify with our childhood feelings so frequently,eh? Can't wait to talk with you about how this poem came to be.

Dymphna said...

It sure is amazing how these feelings follow us our entire lives.

Poems © Gemma W. Wilson