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odd how it robs me

of any comfort of
any hope that
growing old with
someone could be
graceful or not
lonely, how seeing
someone, shrunken
and hunched, unable
to hear, to read,
to situate, really,
in any moment, odd
how it robs me of any
hope that i could
exist in any form
of splendor, past
my prime, without
hopelessly and
totally losing a
sense of myself, my
history, my place,
and ultimately reverse
time, curling in on
myself until I become,
once again, a
baby

 – Tuesday L.A. with hannah | April 15, 2003

©2006 Jamie Gross | All Rights Reserved