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How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?
Some days I am 17. The world an eruption of possibility. The radio says, Dance. In public! I love and am in love.
Some days I am 6. An orphan. Black and blue. And I sit by the window.
Some days 33. I am a mother to all. Scabs on kid knees, proof of my existence.
And some days I am 4. Drawing as if for the first time. Colors everywhere. Neon pink. Magenta. The simplest stories captivate me.
When I’m 46, the world is full of ash and I hold the match. Angels are real. I know their stories by heart.
The days I am 68 may be heavy with life. Joints ache like thunder, the day’s last gift. And the world is so beautiful it hurts.
