Who is this person?

 

March 15, 2012

 

I don’t know who this person is or even who I am, coming off of near blindness to find sunshine in my face. And a voice on the phone, and a whisper in my ears, and an extra beat to my heart.

I grow old, I grow old, I still drink my tea cold, counting life not in tea spoons but in weekly stories I must have ready by deadlines.

Sometimes I wake up and still think I’m dreaming, rather than dreaming that I’m awake.

It’s how I feel now.

Half abandoned. The last family member of my so called generation gone.

And then a voice my ear and movement at work, and this sense of change.

I don’t know who this person is.