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Robust
by Anita MacSomeone once called me Fragile,
rather, he dedicated the song to me.
At seventeen
the dedication was lost on me,
the gesture was not.
Today I look down at my hands,
thin skin red and
cracking at the knuckles
from the dry Southwest winter air,
and I see
everything I've lived through,
everything I know I'll have to.
I know that mostly
I don't know,
but I'll manage.
I have to wonder how,
even for all our youth,
he didn't see it.
01/20/2008 Author's Note: Especially for all our youth...
Posted on 01/20/2008
Copyright © 2024 Anita Mac
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Morgan D Hafele on 01/24/08 at 02:59 AM youth is wasted on the young, or at least that's what the old folks say, but i guess it doesn't matter because as we go on, managing just becomes away of life... |
| Posted by Laura Doom on 01/24/08 at 07:46 PM ...and maybe he did see it, and maybe you only see what you need to - for then, now and what comes next. Anyway, I mostly don't know - and you're the explorer... *insular smile* |
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