by Bea Garth, copyright 2009

Awakening to myself
perhaps for the first  time
like a small child
I get stronger
with  each passing day
while I morn
what I missed
my life blossoms,
what sort of deal
is this
to be old
with all these  scars
still there
like so many fish hooks
and bait wire
twisting together the gashes
but risen somehow
sewing the skin whole
breathing air
no longer submerged
knowing finally how to cross
the water/air barrier,
knowing there is much
more to do,
and actually
having the energy
to do it.


Categories: poem by Bea Garth


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