I’m not your honey! I am nobody’s honey.
Somehow I became ninety-three. No-one warned me.
SIDEWAYS BY ELIZABETH HILL 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 128
I have made my slow way to UPS,
to mail my daughter-in-law the Kindle
she left on their last visit.
Newsprint, brown paper.
Have I wrapped it well enough?
My blue-veined hands struggled with the Scotch tape.
Will they visit again?
They promise. I worry.
I left my bed to make my way to the store.
I am tired all the time.
The clerk asks, “Ground or overnight? Cash or credit?”
I struggle to answer, not sure of the choices.
I can’t remember the address.
Did I leave it behind? Is it in my pocket, my purse?
-
The woman next in line says, “Can I help you honey?”
I summon, “I’m not your honey!”
I am nobody’s honey.
When I was young no-one called me honey.
I finally find the address and hand the clerk my credit card.
-
Somehow I became ninety-three.
No-one warned me.
I dread my gray face. It sags.
My neck hangs low, jiggling when I talk.
I no longer attempt my golden Bobbi Brown cover up.
My prodigious wrinkles have become my face.
I walk with a cane -- by myself.
But all this is no-one’s business.