When I am Old

When I am old,

I will finally be all of me.

I will tuck myself away,

with my loves,

in a rainy, snowy,

far away place,

i will be full of books and art and writing,

a pottery wheel will sit in that sunlit corner on my enclosed porch–

and at night,

I will have only candlelight to see by.

grey hair will run down to my waist,

frizzy in spots,

a nest for the birds that sing at my bedroom window–

channeling my inner Radaghast the Brown,

I will live in peace among the trees,

among the furry creatures

and always barefoot, dripping wet half the time,

emerging from my swimming hole for lunch,

and then back in again, for more pruny goodness.

I’ll weave wildflowers into my crown of grey,

with a food baby always ready to be borned.

I will read through the stacks of books

piling up on the bare wood floor beside my bed,

happily dog-earring each page

falling asleep mid-sentence,

amidst fluffs of dog fur

and the purrs of Tangerine,

my goofy orange cat,

when I am old.

~ j. avellana hongo