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Tuesday, 05 May 2009

The Turnstile

By Lyn Burnstine of The Lynamber Times

When my mother died, I thought
“I am the next in line.
There is nobody between me and the turnstile now,
The next turn will be for me.”
But I was still young, twenty years ago,
It seemed like a long time away.
This weekend I saw my youngest son
after two years’ absence,
He has become a middle-aged man,
wearing his father’s thickened face and body,
salt-and-pepper hair,
a gray beard.
My grandson is balding.
In the blink of an eye,
his daughters will be
grown.
The generations stand behind me,
in rows, waiting their turns
to step up to the turnstile.

[EDITORIAL NOTE: All elders, 50 and older, are welcome to submit stories for this blog. They can be fiction, non-fiction, poetry, memoir, etc. Instructions for submitting are here.]

Posted by Ronni Bennett at 02:30 AM | Permalink | Email this post

Comments

Lyn, you pushed everything about getting older into a wonderful nutshell. It is a refreshing relief to see a perceptive poem in the Elderstory Place.

What have you done? I'll never go through a turnstile again without thinking, is this the one.

That describes it exactly! It's not much fun knowing you are next in line:)

Gosh, I expected to have to sit on an ice floe. I am relieved; all I have to do is go through a turnstile.

Thanks for your interesting and (some--Norm and Darlene!) funny comments--sorry I didn't respond sooner, but my computer went through the turnstile. Those can be replaced!

I had a dream. I was running from what seemed to be a gloomy train station out into the light of day. There were men chasing and calling to me to STOP, come back and get in line.

I think you gave me my interpretation here.

From first to last, I like the candy story best. ;-)

Thanks, Herm, I happened upon this while copying old posts to my Wordperfect files. I probably wouldn't want to have most of my dreams interpreted--too revealing!

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