A Wrinkle

Gosh, I haven’t written poetry in ages. But when I received Prabath’s latest piece (see below) of Thackery juxtaposed between age and youth, it got me reminiscing on my life, which is, by favourable and reasonable estimates, at its halfway mark.

Since mom’s passing, I think about death often. Not that I’m brooding or fearful of it, simply as one notes the passage of time through the seasons, environmental changes and the like. Our bodies are ecosystems and they pass through season after season, transforming, decaying and eventually slowing to the point where our energy returns whence it came.

Age should not be feared: only understood, respected, and embraced. That’s the roundabout message of what I’m trying to say with “Wrinkle”. Love yourself, love your loved ones, love your health while it endures; and in the end reflect on it all with fondness and joy and depart into the next Great Mystery with that same adventurousness and gentleness of spirit.


A wrinkle

A twinkle, fading

from a yellowed eye

Fast as we race

Neither thee nor thine

Can outpace

Father Time

Though it’s not all sorrows

Or aching morrows

Turgid as the marrow

in our bones

The lives we’ve built

The loves who’ve lasted

In the silt

Of years gone past

When our final winter comes

And Death’s fingers thrum


On the shutters of thine cozy abode

Can you open the door

invite the pale girl in,

smiling—and fearless

giddy, near gormless

Having lived a life,

as full of love without as within?

A wish for thee,

a wish for me

That this is how we part

As humble as the start

Naked, though not alone

Free of flesh, breath and bone

Limitless and soaring

Through eternity

—Christian A. Brown, 2020