Monday, February 13, 2012

Last Dance.

I am and You are

This was a very long day
a very long  year:
our bodies, fragile
our feet, shod with wrong shoes
 the pavement,  unstable.

The music-
the same song we first heard on a jukebox
at the corner five- and- dime
where we sat
close to each other
hoping someone would ask the other to dance.

They are performing our song, I say, and stand up
in encouragement
swaying back and forth
threatening to dance by myself
if I have to.

The young  performers
pretend not to notice
the hunger in my eyes, the annoyance in my step.
To them
old people
are already dead.


  1. I've had this poem for a while. Every time I revise it, it goes somewhere else. I'm posting it now or I'll be up all night fussing with it.
    I have too much to say on such subject.

  2. Oh I could had a few words as well ... what is it about silver hair and perception anyway? I still enjoy a good dance!!!

  3. That's okay; those who see us as over the hill will soon be there themselves!

  4. Ouch! Sometimes we do have to dance by ourselves, though, even in the wrong shoes! You 'fussed' just enough. Post more!!

  5. It is strange how we become invisible with age. My husband was reading the recent essay Donald Hall wrote for the New Yorker. He described one scene where his grandson brought some friends to the Vermont farm, and one girl placed her chair right in front of Mr. Hall, as if he did not exist.

  6. You have a wonderful way with words Rosaria. x

  7. Rosaria, this is well written; a very powerful statement, and one that shouldn't be overlooked. Thank you for your supportive words over at my place.

    Shannon at The Warrior Muse, co-host of the 2012 #atozchallenge! Twitter: @AprilA2Z

  8. ah, but the joke is on them. the older we get the more alive we are! dance away)))