Note: Mary Lou is my classmate from Douglass and I love her poetry. Here is her latest that she sent me about growing older, which happens to all of us…if we are lucky to live long!
Origami for the Old 2
When footsore and out of sorts,
each fold that ensues
can make a mountain appear as a molehill
until it slowly disappears from view,
but give it wings to fly,
and a mouth to sing its reasons Why,
it can glide into consciousness.
Can we turn growing Old into an Art form,
instead of grotesque shapes and sizes
with gaps in sentences
as though stuck in the middle of a thought wave!
Strike with alacrity instead!
Already braced for creases and folds,
with dots and dashes and marks
bold enough to stop——!
Why not divide in half through paper craft
that lends itself to full erasure of the stigma, the blot
of our once less than mobile self.
All lean and immaculate,
no fat between to anchor into a slot.
How at first our faces might pale
to scale everything down,
but then we are seduced
into the scissor craft as if reborn
like a Heron who carries its wingspan
into Other more capable Hands
when the wind blows through
their once silent thought waves.
The Clout we might have had on Earth
is streamlined like the clouds of doubt overhead,
but with each Good Deed,
we can pick up speed for the fair skies up ahead.
Begin again with the cacophony of sound
projected onto the plainly ordained Origami.