One day Maeve was musing about how some before-and-after moments have a clear dividing line. Others are less distinct: you know they happened, but you’re not sure when. That got me thinking.
Some are picture clear:
The day I stop sucking my thumb,
Agree to let my father paint my nails
With bad-tasting stuff
So I can hold my head high
When I start kindergarten.
The day I earn my first money,
Dollar bills in an envelope
For after-school work
Operating the buttonhole machine
In my aunt’s pajama factory.
The day I show up for my first library job,
Say “May I help you?”
And actually find what he’s looking for.
“Thank you,” he says,
As if it’s no big deal.
Some are fuzzy,
Knowable only on look-back:
Realizing I’m no longer afraid
To mount the podium
And speak to an audience.
In fact, it gives me a thrill.
Morphing from middle-age to senior,
Selecting shoes for comfort, not style.
Feeling content
With my life
And myself.