I will no longer makeup my face
My bare feet will find cool puddles of water
In the storms that come after days of intolerable heat
I won’t run with my child through the rain
I will sit with his pictures by my windowsill
I will listen to his life over the phone
And when he doesn’t call, I will picture him living
I will leave my grey hair long.
twist it up each morning.
And Let it down each night
I will sleep with the windows cracked open and count the blessings of seasons past with the calls of the summer cicadas
I will read books without interruption
Or listen to them if my eyes are too tired from squinting over sun filled days.
When I’m an old woman.
Not much will have changed
but time.