So tonight I was getting ready to go out to dinner when one of my friends called me asking for my help. He goes to another school and he needed to write a poem from a “woman’s” perspective (whatever that means) for his creative writing/poetry class. At loss for any idea, he asked me to help him out. I gladly made a trade with him. I would write his poem (after all it would only take 15 minutes tops) if he in turn would correct my French paper before I turn it in on Tuesday. Because he is a native French speaker and he could ask his father about an grammar questions, I think this will work spectacularly.
Here is the poem I came up with. I personally think it is rather terrible, however, I am proud that I came up with this in 10 or so minutes. Here it goes, don’t make fun of my lack of structure or theme… Oh and I do not have the perspective of middle age since I am only a teenager. Whatever… here it goes:
On Growing Old by Colleen Elizabeth
In an old house with floorboards
That creak and groan in the summer heat
Lives an old aging woman with dry and cracked
Hands from years of honest labor.
Her face, with deep creases that run
Every which way, like rivers on a map,
But rather than distant, unfamiliar, and impersonal,
Each crease is part of a story, her story,
Each crease affiliated with a worry or fear
That stemmed from loving a son,
A husband, a granddaughter,
The struggle, she found, was allowing them to
Leave her side, her home, one by one.
And I loved her fiercly, even when I
Eventually moved away and took a job
In a confusing and chaotic city.
Now as my childhood friends reminisce,
About their grandparents
And groan about a new gray hair
Or a surfacing wrinkle on their own
Tired faces, I laugh,
And a smile emerges knowing that when
That first monumental wrinkle grazes my face,
I will be on my way to becoming
The woman I always wanted to be.