By Ellen June Wright
The caregiver calls to tell me about mother,
but I know she hasn’t slept. The security videos
of her restless…
but I know she hasn’t slept. The security videos
of her restless…
Explore Poems: Growing Old
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- By Ellen June WrightWhen you wake from a troubled sleep,
after you’ve used the bathroom, don’t go back.
Walk down the hall… - By Stanley PlumlyThe euphemism is “infusion” when confusion is what happens, and depends on no time in particular especially…
- By Joanna KlinkWoken again, this time by wings
scraping the air to pitch the warbler’s
heft from its tree. Its perch… - By Brittany PerhamThe doctor tells her what she can’t eat
no grains no nuts no beans no sugar a tomato is OK
but no skins… - By Xin QijiTranslated By Shangyang Fangto the tune “he xin lang: toasting the bridegroom”Now that I am old and those who crossed the mountains…
- By Xin Qiji甚矣吾衰矣。
怅平⽣、交游零落，只今余⼏！
⽩发空垂三千丈，⼀笑⼈间万事。
问何物、能令公喜？
我见青⼭多妩媚，料青⼭见我应如是。
情与貌，略相似。
⼀尊搔⾸东窗⾥。
想渊明、《停云》诗就，此时风味。
江左沉酣求名者… - By Ross WhiteI’m not the first man to lose his father
slowly, not the first to wonder
when I walk in the room if the… - By John Whalen-BridgeTranslated By Chun YuThe words of children
splash in grandmother’s mind
and ripple to now.
孩子的話兒
在祖母心中濺起
蕩漾至今。 - By Nia FranciscoNiha hastsoí, nihidzanii
‘álastsii’ nihich’į’ dah deidiijaa’
bílák’ee naazhjaa’go
nihich’į’ dah deidiijaa… - By T.S. LeonardDon’t. The past is overcrowded with the future
closer than you think. You blink, that’s one
eon; a yawn… - By Trina DasThe first time you get sick and your mom
isn’t there to
force-feed you chicken soup and massage
warm… - By Martha SilanoBecause why not? Why not take the smashed pinecone
of my life, render it in purple? Why not dream of… - By Michelle OteroAfter the stroke our father lost the word
light switch
asked me to
press the wall so a world could open… - By Carmen GiménezIn Lima, my mother screams from her bed and from a garden
and in the parlor of her nursing home, and… - By Emma TrellesLittle witches, she calls them, appearing on the lawn in a snap, thumbelina morada at our feet and spiked…
- By Molly FiskYesterday I was so lonely
I could barely walk,
my friend being mobbed
by her grandchildren
as we made… - By Li-Young LeeWhen the big clock at the train station stopped,
the leaves kept falling,
the trains kept running,
my mother… - By William Butler Yeats'Because I am mad about women
I am mad about the hills,'
Said that wild old wicked man
Who travels where God wills.
'Not to die on the straw at home,
Those hands to close the eyes,
That is all I ask, my dear,
From the old... - By William Butler YeatsI
What shall I do with this absurdity —
O heart, O troubled heart — this caricature,
Decrepit age that...