Poetry

The Death of Memories

at 20, I danced with men who smelled of Polo cologne
thinking only of me
at 30 when I nursed my baby, I
had no thought to ever wash my hair again
at 40, I drove the kids’ car pool all day
without complaining
at 50, I sat up past midnight waiting for teenagers to come home,
fearing the worst
at 60, I sat up past midnight waiting for my husband to come home,
thinking of divorce
at 70. I sit alone

waiting for these memories to die