When I was young I knew everything

For the life of me

I cannot remember

What made us think that we were wise

And we'd never compromise

For the life of me

I cannot believe

We'd ever die for these sins

We were merely freshmen.

--The Verve Pipe

September, the month of new beginnings, has curled into itself under bright blue skies, lying down in a brittle bed of heat and dust.

Ninety-five degrees. Summer won't let go but it will fade away.

My teens navigate the tricky waters of adolescent relationships, spinning with happiness, nursing invisible hurts.

I sit at an outdoor table with an old friend, talking about romance and dissecting midlife relationships.

We are still Freshmen. 

Our cups are half full and half empty.

There is not enough cream in the coffee.

The tea has steeped too long. 

We're torn between real sugar and artificial sweeteners.

Nothing quite covers the bitterness.

"I can't be held responsible. We fell in love in the first place."

The potted plant on the deck struggles to produce one more flower.

We reach for another square of dark chocolate.

We have trapped our tears in the pharmacy bottles on the kitchen counter.

We have drugged the thoughts that keep us awake at night.

We have eaten our share of disappointment, leaning over the sink.

We have watched our selves disappear along with our waists and our fertility.

We are no longer goddesses.

I have worn a smile like a girdle, trying to smooth out all the lumps,

Trying to hold everything together until the night swallows the day and reveals the truth:

I am soft underneath.

I am ample.

I am colorful because I am bruised.

I am overripe.

It is September.

I can always find beauty, but joy has to find me

And it does

An unexpected bounty

A fullness I cannot contain.

A late bloom pushed forth

Against dryness and drought

Fearlessly into the shadow

Of the coming frost.

Comments

[Kelby]

This is fantastic. I really think you should look into the self-publishing process. You need to publish a book. I really mean it. When you allow yourself to be vulnerable in your personal revelations, you touch upon the absolute profound. You have a brilliant gift toward that end. Your vulnerable thoughts are the ones wherein your talent really shines through. I can relate and I'm irresistably drawn in. These are the posts that leave me wanting more because it's like reading an unspoken page of my own mind. L0VE it.

[RD]

Ditto what Kelby said. It sounded very familiar, didn't it? :-) Hope all is well!

[Chris]

Yes, what Kelby said. [Very well put, Kelby!] Overripe. What an image. Love this, V.

[Shirl Grrrl]

Thank you Kelby for putting into words what I wanted to say. This one touched my soul as only V could. Thank you, ole friend.

[Nance]

If Amy Lowell and Sylvia Plath and Nikki Giovanni had somehow produced a child, it would be you. Incredible verse here. I'm so deeply impressed. I'm coming back later to read it again as the creative writing teacher so that I can "see how it works." Wow.

[Jack]

Very nicely done. Summer never fades for me, not completely. Maybe that is my problem. ;)

[V-Grrrl]

Thank you. This means so much to me.

When I was writing this, I was writing not only for myself but for nearly every woman in my life over 40--all the women who have shared their stories with me and listened to mine, in real life and online. I hope men see echoes of their lives too.

As I was revising the poem, I saw even more in it than I first did. I wrote it visualizing myself with a close girlfirend at a table, both us married women. Then I thought, "How would the poem read if the 'old friend' was a man, not a woman? How would it read if it were two women who were lovers? Or two women who were not married? What is the speaker giving 'birth' to in that last stanza in each of those scenarios?"

It was interesting to explore those ideas and consider how they would create different sorts of tension and resolution.

It's been so long since I wrote a poem. I'm glad the Muse spoke to me last night and is speaking to you today. : ) Thanks for reading and sharing your thoughts!

[slouchy]

This is lovely. And so timely for me. Thank you.

[lisa]

Wonderful!

[Kim]

Powerful. Visceral. True.
As a 51-year old woman actively transforming my "ample," "soft underneath," physical self, I can verify that the bruises, now healed, and the over-ripeness add (along with lines and discoloration) a depth of character and interest attainable no other way. Aging, no -- surviving, is wondrous and wonderful if I allow it to be.
I particularly relate to the last several lines. Beauty. Joy. Uncontainable bounty. Ah. yes. This is the life of a contented woman of a certain age.
Love it.

[Nance]

Hi, V. Me again. I think the last two stanzas are where you really hit your stride in this poem. The clarity is sharpest there. The voice almost cuts through--and you can tell by the line lengths and arrangement. It's more direct, more urgent. "No more prosey narration now, " it says. "I have to cut through and make you see. NOW." Very effective. If I had to say why, it's because the first stanza is MomVoice, the second is WifeVoice/LoverVoice, the third stanza is WomanVoice. No way am I messing around with Third Voice. But I want to have a drink with her.

[V-Grrrl]

Nance,

Interesting take on this! Thanks for taking time to come back and add a bit of analysis. I think the poem gains momentum just as a conversation does, where you start out with pleasantries and over the course of an evening, get down to the heart of things. The voice shifts and the tone becomes less social and more intimate and powerful.

[Shirl Grrrl]

Love all the added comments. I think I'm printing this one out and maybe decorating it a little... in a frame, maybe! And I love your new site lay-out!!

[Lisa]

So many of the lines are fabulous but this one is just perrrfect:

"We have trapped our tears in the pharmacy bottles on the kitchen counter."

And I see there's another Lisa commenting so this is Jewelry-Lisa. See you Friday. ;)

[J]

Um...WOW. You've caught so much of middle age here...