Bitter Older Lady
Is that me?
Warm sun on face
hiding out in my place
mulch on feet
my little retreat
Chip
smack
they’re back
Golfers loud
so damn proud
bitter older lady
new malady
sitting in the sun
wondering what I have become
What is fake
past mistakes
I sit back
Should I give myself some slack?
Who am I?
I ask
as I stare at the sky.
Who I am now
in this second part of life?
So tired of wondering
so tired of it all
I hit the wall
I want to run so far
drive off in my car
to the sea
and feel free
maybe to the forest
even then
would my mind rest?
There used to be a senior that taught her dog to fetch the golf balls that hit her house or landed in her yard. The little dog would retrieve them, put them in a bucket then receive a treat. When the golfer would ask about the ball she would just say she didn't see it. Her theory was that they needed to work on their slice and since they didn't know where the ball was it was supposed to be a one stroke penalty. What about the golf balls? She and her friends would play, and she would divide them up between her friends. One of her friends said that they never had to buy balls while she was playing.
It’s okay to feel this way, sometimes the ache to escape isn’t about leaving, it’s about longing for a pause inside yourself. Even if you drove to the sea or the forest, the gentleness you’re craving might already be waiting quietly within you.