When I grow up I’m gonna be an old woman

Wondering at what point I turn into a little old woman?

Oh, math. 2015 – 1962. Right, 53. I keep forgetting.

It keeps sneaking up on me, this time passing. It’s in the sound of my sons’ voices, their stature, their shapes. It’s in the chance reflection in some glass and the after beat of realization that it is me.

It’s in announcements of friends’ grandchildren. Friends that I know are my age. It’s in the sound of their voices, their changing stature, their shapes. It is in the chance reflection that they are me.

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