I still push the buggy through the aisles
marveled at the four red heads tucked in amongst the butter milk nappies
no matter that these same four now boast five o’clock shadows and mortgages
I have been the youngest in the room
or so the story went back then it felt lovely while also disconcerting that’s my nature
to be guilty for taking up space
I no longer fit that description
lines have been drawn where I could not conceive appearance decades ago
stretched across beach towels under blazing sun
shine I have been told now
it means something much different though I have not yet defined that difference
it takes time and distance to do that
shine the sun upon my remembered limbs
shine liquid hope upon my youthful mind
shine flaming ambition sun spotted hands
reach out once more for the fullness
promise of remembering
promise of memory
promise of old
promise of age