Category: Aging

• Another poem about a rose

  It hangs there still in the cold December air having bloomed late, and now unable to set seed. I had thought it a thing of hope when it first bloomed, white, stubborn. The dog does not follow me downstairs at this hour, her joints sore, orientation off. Alone in the gray night, uncertain in the…

  Jenifer

  December 8, 2014

  Aging, Dying, Garden, Nature, Poem sampler, Seasons

  poetry

• Book of changes, ii

  The after-silence opened early that December morning (sometimes it comes as a surprise and sometimes expected, they say). We stepped into it on your last gasp (ready or not, dreaming or not) and as you were dropped into the ground (the splash of water, the frosty breath). We stood shaped (sent forth, novel, unprotected, planned,…

  Jenifer

  December 3, 2014

  Aging, Childhood, Dying, Family, Memory

  poetry

• A rose on the first day of winter

  Still deep pink, regardless of the snow settled between its petals. I ask you how will your innocence hold up,

  Jenifer

  November 24, 2014

  Aging, Dying, Family, Love, Seasons

  poetry

• Book of changes, i

  The sun was bright today, but not enough to keep the lanterns lit tonight. Bare tree branches in tangled knots streak the black blue sky, scraping the air as they sway. If I had thought to prepare, it would not strike so hard that we will spend months waiting for a new set of leaves…

  Jenifer

  November 11, 2014

  Aging, Dying, Memory, Nature, Public, Seasons, Veteran’s Day

  poetry

• Trinity Grille, Denver

  The waiter doubts me, a worn heap retreating into simplicity and slight self-abnegation. I prepare myself to fold into the priestly realm of sleep. Do I look like a stewardess tonight, drinking my white wine and sipping my French onion soup (in this bar, at this time of night, overstating the feminine)? But I am…

  Jenifer

  October 19, 2014

  Aging, Meditation, Memory, Traveling, Work life

  poetry

• Jeanie

  Skies hang today like my gray-brown bed sheet from when I knew you, discolored by countless nights of filthy feet and scraped knees from spud and ding dong ditch and ghosts in the graveyard, never washing white. How long it takes to see the nonwhite on the sheet and then longer still to decide whether…

  Jenifer

  October 9, 2014

  Aging, Childhood, Family, Memory, Muse, Pentwater, Teenager

  poetry