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Vintage
April 11, 2013
Rusty needles,
dusty cross stitched pillows.
Vases with wilted roses,
petals dry and crumbling.
The squeaking of the joints in her knees,
like the creaking of an ancient hinge.
The smell of aspercreme
and violets in the air.
The creases in her face,
as crisp as the ones in her dress.
The laugh lines and crow’s feet that
decorate her expressions.
Gummy dentures and
adult diapers.
The pruney hands,
and constant dependency on others,
I have no desire to become old.
© Jessica M., Marblehead, MA
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