top of page

Forty-five

  • Aug 3, 2025
  • 1 min read

Forty-five


This is a respectable age to be


no longer ‘just a pretty face’


no longer eyed for ‘one thing only’,


there are others, now, for that.


I can enjoy my body more


now that it’s scarred and lined and used,


it fits me better.


It takes work to keep it firm,


the skin smooth, the muscles taut.


My stomach will never be flat again


and the veins on my hands are always large


and always blue


and always sticking out.


Does it matter?


They are good hands, they work


and love and care.


The rings


are unimportant.

 
 
 

Recent Posts

See All
Musings

sitting at the old grandmas’ table trying to ignore the pull in my thigh my twisted ankle, aching shoulder, I muse on how I got here the...

 
 
 
End

End A tube comes at the end as the end, a bowl a pillow the view: a chimney pines and rocks a line of laundry; cars round the swerve in...

 
 
 
Gratitude

"Gratitude for the slice of light rising at dawn for the bird chatter and dustmen’s trucks for even five hours of unmedicated sleep for...

 
 
 

Comments


bottom of page