Dear seventy-year old self
I find you more relaxed about aging
Cannot say the same about all of your friends
Did I say all?
Yes, but that is misleading
Sixty percent host Botox parties
and Mary Kay's alchemy of expensive potions
with artistic color palettes to enhance or camouflage
Deliveries of Amazon's latest promise of youth
All the while,
serving champagne amid the chatter
and the insincere compliments
Sporting their exquisite veneers
Praising plastic surgeons
Exchanging experiences
Painful and agonizing,
but well worth the results
All, slightly pretentious
in their latest fashion of fitted yoga wear
or low cut tees to reveal their new perked boobs
Overly processed hair of cowboy copper and Marilyn blonde
The wonder of modern esthetic marvels
the need, the yearning to keep that youth glow
You know, the one we had when we truly did not appreciate it
My friends, aged Barbies of the twenty-first century
Bemused by their flights of fancy
Hoping against hope that age is just a number
which sneaks upon you to shower you with wisdom and grace
Nothing more
The other thirty nine percent-
pardon the expression,
but they look hard, weathered, and worn out
The complete opposite of pretentious
Sun bunnies and cowgirl wranglers in their youth
Aged crepey skin far more damaged than they should be
Deep crevices of life etched into their habitual expression
Double chins and wirey steel hair
A few, but a many few,
now pay the price of healthful neglect
Couch potatoes, soap opera fiends
Stagnant brains on coffee and doughnuts
Vape pens and Marlboros
the only thing flashy is the flick of their lighters
Donning tees which read
Love me or hate me
Who gives a shit
COPD accurses a few
Xanax and Zoloft, marvelous meds
to ease their pain and disappointments
with this ever evolvong carousel called life
Then there is the one percent
The me, the one who looks in the mirror
The mirror I was once obseessed with
but now, accepts the march of time
The one who still awakens before dawn
and runs toward the rising sun
feeling the radiant warmth caress my being
Though my bones feel the jar and my heart rate is more profuse
Me, the one so obsessed with fear
Fear of loss, any loss
Fear of getting sick, of losing my independence
That I poured everything into health and fitness
So afraid of becoming frail and dying
I forgot how to live
How to embrace the gift of time
with family and friends
Today, I stand at the threshold
where life's important lessons
gratefully became imbued with balance
appreciating acquired and new knowledge
I peer into this mirror
observing the reflection of silver fine hair
crows feet, laugh lines, boney hands, pronounced veins,
furrowed brows. ten extra pounds, softer flesh
Surprisingly to me,
I celebrate seventy without the vanity
void of the cumbersome need to appear youthful
or the cumulative results of bad genes or bad living
Another year
Mirror, mirror on the wall
Embrace my age
Note to self-be proud and stand tall
