Somewhere, in the damp mold
and earthen rot of a Georgia landfill,
all the old pages of her calendars
are steadily feeding worms.
She tears them slowly now,
often stealing another day;
searching for smaller places
on the month's featured landscape.
She often wondered what
she could be when she grew up.
Still, she cannot feel herself grown up.
She might have grown away.
She counts all the years of her life,
and holds each warm day in her hand.
But counting does not bundle the days
into anything greater than moments.
Those speeding numbers
are quickly divisible by infinite
regrets, and missed opportunities
to become something different.
Now, the burning wonder is
what she can be before she dies.
There is an urgent need to become more
than torn pages, and soft fodder for worms.
Shirley A. Alexander
Shirley Alexander's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Torn Pages by Shirley Alexander )
- Not A Sound, Tango Tango
- - People? - (Haiku), Joe Muschaweck
- 男人赋, qin xing
- Genetic Predisposition Towords Violence, Is It Poetry
- Wild Is The Churning Of The Winds, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- Honesty, Nassy Fesharaki
- Do Not Be Serious, Kumarmani Mahakul
- 24/7, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- You Show Me Safe, Susan Lacovara
- What's Wrong WithThe Grown-ups, Zion Odeyemi
Poem of the Day
- 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- On Turning Ten, Billy Collins
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- Dreams, Langston Hughes
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
- A Smile To Remember, Charles Bukowski
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
- Heather Burns
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(1886 - 1967)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(22 March 1941 -)