It always takes me awhile
to get used to a new decade of years.
At 40, I am older than 42.
At 21 I am ancient, until I am 22.
The slow opening stretch
settling in, understanding, accepting
my place in the stage dance of age
leaves me momentarily agape
desperate to scratch back the days.
Has nothing to do with any reality,
just a moment of sweet relief after long bitter
dread of the unarmed march to new infancy.
revel mama 
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