×

A sweet poem I thought I’d share

Ode to Aging Bodies

Jan Mandell

Aging bodies

wake to blue veins

that pop up

and travel like river tributaries

over paper thin skin

pocked with freckles, tags and blotches

that look like unidentified sections

of abstract art

Aging bodies

Rise up to the chatter and

creaking sounds of thin, porous bone

that feel like cheap metal pipes

refitting poorly into their stubborn mates

Waking up the aging body is familiar

like an attempt to turn over

the frozen engine of a used car

left out overnight

in a below zero day

in the dead of Minnesota winter

The ache and noise of an aging body

is like a constant companion,

a highly extroverted friend

who simply won’t shut up,

yet is there thru it all.

This is an ode to aging bodies

who cough and spatter and wheeze like sounds of old cars,

who drive thru the day anyway

making poetry from pock marks, skin tags, speckled hands

and remain unbothered

by the constant twitch and crunch of bone grinding into thinning cartilage

Rather they hear this noise as music,

a jazz riff or a smooth soul remix,

a moan of an old-time blues band.

Lulling the aging body back to sleep.

If blessed and favored

aging bodies wake up the next day

to the twitch, crunch and chatter and of thin, porous bones

To the pulse of blue veins

The feel of wrinkled, sagging skin

The sound of an old time blues band

Calling to every aging body

to rise up

And do it all again

Starting at $2.99/week.

Subscribe Today