Word Wednesday - Ninety Summers, 1969

Happy Word Wednesday everybody! Even though my following is on the small side, I'm always grateful for those who do visit, and take the time to read my work. That means you! Thankyou! 

Today I'm sharing with you a much newer poem, it's actually less than a week old. I wanted to share this in contrast with last weeks poem, which was written and posted back in 2010. I like to think I have come quite a long way since then, although I still have a ways to go. As always, all constructive feedback is not only welcomed, but encouraged! Enjoy!

Ninety Summers, 1969

bitter, the sweet divide
the gap widens with each
step
the earth beneath bare
feet crackles, peels like
withered skin
from bones
ninety summers old
it could swallow me up
that fissure hewn, that earth wound
from a skipped generation
the one who is all ideals
and no conviction and skin clearer than
mine ever was and
blonde hair that
falls down to her knees

I was the kind of girl
who would have wanted
to be her best friend
I would have read all the books she borrowed and
stole
and bought all of her dresses
in contrasting colours
I would have stopped drinking coffee, smoking
or buying groceries
when people would ask me why I no longer ate
meat
I would lie
and they would think me a matyr
or a communist

At dusk, I travel daily,
through those pink
clouds of time
to the day
they took us out to
church country
to visit the graves and the architecture
and find the fresh air that can
cure old age
the teenagers
they got their kicks by pressing their
long bodies into the
cracks, trying to scare us
not knowing that we were too old
for fear, even
they wanted to stay
until darkness came
to wait for the ghosts and the fairies
she doesn’t believe in
spirits, just spirit
And so I know she won’t go
looking
for my ghost when I go
next summer

And so
I get that hollow feeling my bones
hollow enough to blow glass
through
into shapes that could reflect my soul
warped, brittle,
it can hold water and catch light
at certain angles
to appear beautiful
Sometimes I feel as though I’ve lived
through ninety winters
without a sun