“I envisioned myself old on a mountain hike/a soft breeze lifting my long white hair/I thought I’d live ‘til ninety-five”
I thought I’d live ‘til ninety-five
like Dad who died in his well-worn chair
the lens of cancer blurs the line.
I envisioned myself old on a mountain hike
a soft breeze lifting my long white hair
I thought I’d live ‘til ninety-five
assumed I had yet a long, long while
since I ran, ate greens, did yoga daily
the lens of cancer blurs the timeline.
I’ve had a full and interesting life
I’ve loved, been loved, good kids are raised
I thought I’d live ‘til ninety-five.
Mornings I see the mountain sunrise,
David asleep, the cat in the doorway
the lens of cancer blurs the lifeline.
Yet this moment’s clear, I see blue sky
I breathe and move and love today
I thought I’d live ‘til ninety-five
the lens of cancer blurs the final line.
Miriam Bruning Carmichael is a retired Registered Nurse. She developed a life-long love of writing poetry when a teacher introduced her to haiku in fourth grade. She lives with her husband, David, and cat, Indy, in Las Cruces, New Mexico.
