Aging

Aging, All Poems, Gym/exercise, Trees

Branches Sway

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Have you ever noticed branches swaying in the breeze?

Bending, stretching, returning to upright positions?

As though doing exercises?

Or maybe yoga?

A practice Bob and I started.

In our mid-seventies.

First, chair yoga.

Seated, maneuvering this way, that.

Coordinating with the breath.

Inhaling, exhaling.

Then graduating to a mat on the floor.

Gentle joining of mind and body.

Sliding from one pose to another.

Standing, sitting, lying prone, supine.

Advancing, little by little.

Thrusting legs up and out.

Like limbs of an old oak tree.

Seeking flexibility, balance

in arboreal harmony.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 28, 2024

Aging, All Poems, Change, Humor

My Mother Emerged

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I had a strange sensation, said Bob in the bathroom.

Staring into the mirror.

My cheeks used to be chubby. I looked like my father.

But, recently, Bob lost weight.

Between exercising, watching diet.

He continued, now my cheeks are hollow. My mother emerged.

Pointing to his cheekbones.

Skin below, sunken inward.

His observations, true.

My eyes, another mirror.

Ears, too.

Hearing his mother’s words cascade from his mouth.

Hippity do dah, when his hip hurts.

Noticing behaviors.

Her need to be everywhere early.

Plan, organize, strive for perfection.

While his father, a free spirit.

Spontaneous, arriving late.

Jolly, good humored, rarely ruffled.

Wry sense of humor.

Lover of food, overweight.

Which Bob was until his mother poked out.

But, I suppose that’s what happens

as years roll on by.

Genetics of each parent

in minds and bodies vie.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 14, 2024

 

Aging, All Poems, Death, Humor, Stories

Stage of Life

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The stage of life I’m in is iffy.

Not to say any stage isn’t vulnerable.

But each day you’re well in older age, a bonus.

For, with each upcoming event, milestone, no guarantee.

Who knows if I’ll be there to celebrate, dance?

Yet, it’s hard to convey that possibility to others.

Who wants to think about uncertainty?

Mortality?

When planning a wedding?

Birthday celebration?

Holiday gathering?

It’s easier with an age mate who understands.

Like when a friend and I talked about a project of mine.

She asked me, do you have a deadline?

I looked her straight in the eye.

Smiled wide and long.

My line is exactly there.

Write until I’m gone.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 11, 2024

Aging, All Poems, Change, Family, Gym/exercise, Health/Illness, Humor, Love, Pleasure, Seasons, Spouses

Transformation

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Bob transforms before my eyes.

Noting new muscles in stomach, thighs.

Increasing weights on machines.

Walking with zip, alacrity.

Signing up for classes to strengthen core.

Watching carbs, losing weight.

Shrinking from pant size forty to thirty-six.

A number he hasn’t worn since his twenties.

Why do people think a man of seventy-five can’t change?

Even become younger?

Stare at himself in the mirror like a seventeen-year-old?

Study his physique?

Buy stylish clothing?

New undergarments, socks?

Hold my hand, rub my back?

Flirt, enchant, allure with passion?

Wax poetic about flowers?

Blooming clematis, daisies, lavender.

Waiting for bee balm, Echinacea to bare petals.

Attract hummingbirds, butterflies.

Notice mating calls of frogs, foxes?

Cardinals, robins, wrens

Luscious sensuality abounds.

June’s vitality makes it easy to be young.

No matter your age.

Passion floats with pollen through the air.

Settling golden on the skin.

Transfigured, we instantly take care.

With vigor, once again smitten.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 3, 2024

Aging, All Poems, Change, Cousins, Emotions, Family, Gardens, Health/Illness, Loss, Regret, Stories

Sitting with Libby

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I’m glad we went to see Libby today, said Bob.

Bustling around the kitchen.

Reflecting on the afternoon.

I’m glad we visited, too.

A chance to sit outside with her.

Under Japanese lilacs.

Perfuming breezes.

Sneaking through open doors to sweeten corridors.

In the residence where she now resided.

It was peaceful.

Not a word about politics.

Conviction of Trump.

Just being together in the garden.

Three of us, alone.

Talking about her soon-to-be ninety-first birthday.

Her new great grandson.

Mention of him filling her eyes with tears.

Scrolling photos on her phone.

Stopping at azaleas outside her former home.

Pictures, she requested from her son.

Still living there.

Blooming bushes, a place, a season she misses.

Trading them for needed care.

Knowing the choice, right.

But wistful for what she left behind.

We sat in shade.

Just present with each other.

I, commenting on her pink nails, short haircut.

Simple, unhurried conversation.

Plying her about my maternal grandparents.

Her aunt and uncle.

Whom she knew growing up.

But who didn’t survive past my second year.

She, the last link in the family to remember them.

My turn to feel melancholy.

Not getting to know them.

I wish my parents told me more.

Or maybe I hadn’t heard.

Tenuous my history.

Who’s left to pass on the word?

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 1, 2024

Aging, All Poems, Animals/Insects, Change, Natural Beauty, Seasons, Time, Trees

I Shake my Head

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I shake my head at my youthful self.

Longing to stay in bed till nine.

Despite sunshine poking through panes.

For now, when I see first gleams of light, I sit straight up.

Wanting to catch them.

Jump forward, follow them.

Close the door behind me.

Bask in sights, smells.

Linden leaves, roses.

Lilacs, honeysuckles.

Rhythms of the season.

Caws, cheeps, trills.

Honks, hammers, vibratos.

Early rising birds.

Claiming soil, sky.

I want to hear morning symphonies.

Inhale perfumed lands.

Before the rush of traffic.

Humming engines, shrieking brakes.

Students parking cars.

Rushing toward classes.

Before the goose family arises.

Hatchlings in a comfy ball.

Fuzz greying into feathers.

Before the day swings underway.

Wakes up, stretches, yawns.

How much time have I left to find?

How many unspent dawns?

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 25, 2024

Aging, All Poems, Birthdays, Siblings

Joyous Occasion

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It was, indeed, a joyous occasion.

My sister turning seventy.

I, five years her senior.

Remembering her return from the hospital.

Her jaundice, transfusion.

My mother’s long illness.

Landing her in bed.

Yet, here we are.

Baby sister, well.

Three score, ten.

Aging like the rest of us.

Sibling group still intact.

No holes in the cloth.

Taken care of, washed, hung to dry.

Ironed, folded, treasured.

Too bad parents not with us,

sharing in each milestone.

But I’m sure their spirits hover.

We’re never here alone.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 24, 2024

Aging, All Poems, Change, Family, Humor, Pleasure, Spouses, Stories

Rose Scented Body Wash

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Do you like the rose scented body wash? Bob asked me.

After ordering two bottles of the hard-to-find liquid on line.

Arriving today, I opened one, used it.

Nodding assent, I tell him, I like that scent. But, it became unavailable.

He went on, there are only two more left in stock. Should I order them?

I hesitated, thinking how much I relished the fragrance.

Then, a quick shake of the head, no.

What sense to hoard a bath soap

when I’m seventy-five?

Who knows if in a year or two

I’ll even be alive?

What’s the point of downsizing?

Tossing to make space?

If we purchase extra products.

Likely, we’ll misplace.

No merit now in storing

any more than two.

If I have to switch aromas,

that’s just what I’ll do.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 22, 2024

 

Aging, All Poems, Birthdays, Change, Friendship, Loss, Memories

Discovery and Rediscovery

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How do you feel when you discover something?

Something novel?

A new place, new food?

New word, new flower?

Perhaps it spices up your life.

Gives you a sense of adventure.

Animates, enlivens.

Tickles the spirit.

What about rediscovery?

Something you knew in the past?

Lost, misplaced, forgot about?

A recipe, book?

Song, photo?

Perhaps a person?

Someone you lost touch with?

For the hustle bustle of life.

Career, marriage, childrearing.

And, then, reconnected with.

Finding out you still had much in common.

Adolescent memories.

Values, opinions, perspectives.

Even birthdays.

Exactly one week apart.

A fact I held onto for decades.

After going our separate ways.

Always remembering my friend’s birthday.

Acknowledging it in silence.

Even when apart.

Mourning the loss.

But, also, honoring her, the past relationship.

Despite disconnection.

So, when this year, I could offer her birthday wishes, I did.

Putting a bounce in my step.

Lightening each breath.

Feeling blessed in older age,

rediscovering a person dear.

Now we’ve found each other,

not possible to disappear.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 7, 2024

Aging, All Poems, Gym/exercise, Health/Illness

Mobilizing Mitochondria

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Each day I run to the gym.

Sometimes for a class.

Sometimes to walk the track.

Do solitary stretching.

Or lift weights on machines.

Thinking about balance, strength, endurance.

But, lately, paying attention to mitochondria.

What are they? you ask.

Those thousands of power batteries inside cells.

Residing in heart, liver, muscles, brain.

And every other organ.

Breaking down nutrition into energy for the body.

Making  super fuel known as ATP.

Exercise stimulating their number, density, turnover.

Producing more ATP.

Science suggesting their health may increase mine.

Delay aging.

Keep it at bay.

Who knew I could nurture them?

Just by moving?

Mobilizing mitochondria

stimulates growth and change.

Exercise to keep our youth.

Not a bad exchange.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 19, 2024