The Regrets of an Aging Woman
Inspired by T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”
How I wish
Our hands to intertwine beside the churning sea
With the skull of the moon raised high above our heads.
How I wish to dine on a white tablecloth,
Air filled with honey,
Ropes binding my tongue.
The cracked sidewalks of a crowded city,
The paper-like skin,
The empty promises of cell phone calls.
Perhaps one day I will hear that heartbeat
Pressed close against my ear.
The black ink that coats the inside of my skin,
Drenching the street at the soles of my shoes,
Dancing up the sides of ramshackle windows,
Settling like silk in a coffin with aging flowers.
Tar-flavored tongues and muffled words,
Footsteps sinking into the ground.
Wrinkled skin and white fabric,
The dew-drops on fresh bouquets,
Reside in blank frames on empty tabletops/
Regrets… Regrets… So many regrets,
Like a tree ridden of its leaves.
Perhaps one day I’ll hear that heartbeat
Pressed close against my ear.
Perhaps I’d be there yet, if it weren’t for
The trickling sand and weakening bones.
The steady, flat sound of the wind through the trees
Each day,
Each day,
As the weeks and years unwind.
Why can I not close my eyes now?
The youth bleeds into the water from empty arteries,
Echoing, speechless,
The view of turned backs.
I ask myself, day after day,
The same words that echo inside my brain,
With the intensity of a younger girl’s mind.
I ask myself,
Why can I not close my eyes now?
