Growing Old Poem by Raynette Eitel

Year by year I feel youth escaping
from my pores,
leaving behind this wrinkled flesh
and old songs flaking across my parched lips.

Once I rejoiced in mornings,
breathed in the perfume of dawn,
sipped the elixir of each new day.
Now I wear the veil of twilight casually,
knowing midnight will soon come
and the glass slipper of life
will slide from my foot
and disappear.

While my mirrored image shows age
streaking my face with charcoal lines,
wrinkles like a road map of my life
etch my eyes my mouth my neck.
I search desperately for the girl who
wore gardenias in her hair
as she danced beneath a sky
dusted with dreams and stars.

I glance at my hands,
despondent to discover
they are the arthritic hands of my mother
and my grandmother,
swollen with holding youth too tightly
and stiff from grasping old dreams.

Still the soothing sounds of symphonies play
in the theatre of my soul,
echoes of youth blooming
in the fragrance of flutes,
kettle drums building a child’s excitement
in the pit of my stomach
and lullabies sung softly
as I am rocked by loving arms
in the music of memories.