Who is this person?
March 15, 2012
I donít know who this person is or even who I am, coming off of near blindness to find sunshine in my face. And a voice on the phone, and a whisper in my ears, and an extra beat to my heart.
I grow old, I grow old, I still drink my tea cold, counting life not in tea spoons but in weekly stories I must have ready by deadlines.
Sometimes I wake up and still think Iím dreaming, rather than dreaming that Iím awake.
Itís how I feel now.
Half abandoned. The last family member of my so called generation gone.
And then a voice my ear and movement at work, and this sense of change.
I donít know who this person is.