Another year to archive.
I browse the aisles of Staples,
I choose faux leather,
Weekly (seven days on two open-faced pages.)
I don’t need more than that anymore.
a journal from 1986 awaits purging.
Pregnant with midlife dreams,
I read the tiny script with wonder—
perfection forced into being—
tear my life of then to shreds,
reconcile what might have been
with that which is,
Writing sprawls across the page,
Submitted to Karin’s prompt over at dVerse where we’re asked to consider treaty, truce. One of the challenges of the last part of life is to accept the reality of what is relative to what we thought it would be in our youth. A recent health issue, which has turned out not to be as bad as I anticipated, has me purging my old journals. It is mind-boggling to see how life has unfolded compared to what I had expected…and a bit disconcerting to realize that the issues of long ago are the same ones that hound me today, in gentler forms. Life is good when lived in the moment…and so much freer.