The Gift of Years
We are
at the same time
two
and sixteen
and twenty-eight and
some of us are also
eighty-nine.
We are the hearth
to every
prized perception
and home
to every laugh
collected
Every full moon
and each early rise.
Every handshake
and twinkle in the eye
And, in the mirror,
Clear as day,
we are
every wrinkle
reflected.
We are every teacher and
every crush
every startle
and every blush
every wilt and every boast.
every dance
and every toast. And
in our bones
We are what we’ve
chosen to
do with sorrow
and whether or not
mercy, at home with us,
flows through
our veins tomorrow.