I, me, myself

August 22, 2014

I do not know who I am. I seem to be an uneven mix Of so many persons; Someone’s daughter (Though that person Is now, several years, In the past tense) Someone’s sister (Also in the past) A friend to several people, The wife of one man To whom I gave several decades Before that, too Slipped into the past. I am the butt of many jokes The object of scorn to many; Yet others regard me with affection. I too have given my heart, For life: I am the mother of one, The mother-in-law of one, And the grandmother of two. I feel, though, that sometimes One person in me predominates Over the others. What I would like to be Is a complete person: An amalgam, a balanced mix Of these people who live And breathe within me. But I seem to be more Like a Ferris wheel Where first one person, And then another Rise to the top, and the others Sink below into unheeded Oblivion. Where is the singer? The theatre critic? The writer? The quizzer? The lover of languages? Where am I? Who am I? I am mixed, indeed…and do not know.

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August 20, 2014

The days pass by Like small notes Slipped under the door To someone who will come home Only later. Later is a time that arrives Almost at once; And the moment that makes up the present Becomes the past, with each tick Of the clock; Living only in memory. Existing only in chronicles and history. Life slips away In the leaves, torn daily, From the calendar That mark the inexorable passage Of time…and our lives upon this earth.

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