Tiger Stripes

When my hair begins to grey, I will rejoice.

My crow’s feet will race farther than my aging joints could ever take me.

They will run down my cheek and jaw to meet my laugh lines, 

Long enforced by the joy I savored with the sunrise.

My freckles and dimples will need no polishing, for my glowing soul will illuminate them plenty well on its own.

With every twinge in my hip, I will sigh with bittersweet contentment. 

When my grandchildren tease me for my outdated dialect, 

I will laugh aloud, relieved,

For if the young have made my generation obsolete, 

It means the Earth is still turning.

If my childhood is the great distant past, 

Then we aren’t moving backward.

I will relish the lines on my body, 

Earned by years I feared I’d never live

Because I was afraid the world would end before my journey could run its course. 

The mark between my fading eyebrows?

Oh, these lines on my forehead? 

Those are simply grooves, 

Chipped away by life, as the rain wears away at these low Vermont mountains,

Shaping them into ancient survivors, rounded, unshakeable.

I will never iron out my wrinkles,

Or seek treatment for my tiger stripes and leopard spots.

The weight I gain will house my wisdom, and memories will be tucked into the creases of my body.

I will earn the title of Elder, for the girl who thought she never would.

And when my eyes begin to cloud, at the end, it will be for the first time.