Growing Old

Growing old gracefully isn’t a pirouette

or an elegant jeté displayed across the stages

of life, nor a double axel, a salchow, or a lutz

on a frozen theater, no oohing and aahing,

no applause; it is, rather, the beauty of one foot

in front of the other, a pause to bend down,

groaning, perhaps, to pick up a penny

or a soft rose petal, fallen, the air still fresh,

or pungent even, nature’s decay fertilizing

and returning darkness back to light and life,

the sunshine warm on our faces or the cool mist

of rain, an ocean breeze blowing, a salt spray’s spritzing,

the sound of the surf pounding, a gull squawking overhead,

a songbird singing unseen, a trill, a peeping, a greeting;

growing old gracefully is walking by a mirror,

and, smiling, recognizing ourselves reflected.