Coming of Age


It grows on us, age does, just thinking about it.
Each year another ring of the bell, yet another
Candle leaking wax as it wanes. At first it is
Not at all subtle. There is the marking of height
On the wall, the recording of weight—call it growth.
Clothes become hand-me-downs. This aging is
A process of reciprocation, we wear it, it wears us
Down and out, until we are worn and memory,
Self-indulgent, reminds as a script for rehearsal,
Repeated repeatedly, again and again, over and over.
The articulation of mind and muscle become softer,
Sagging at the edges. We think to ourselves, this
Getting old is getting old. But when all is said and told,
The thing about age is we will eventually outgrow it.