Everything New is Old
The back of my hand is changing.
I don’t know it anymore.
New freckles hiding in the wrinkles,
veins like fat rivulets of blue shadow,
knuckle joints ringed like holes in the boles
of slightly crooked trees
(I almost expect an owl or two to gaze back)
All these new things, just to remind me
I’m getting old.
#155
Linda Studley 