Somedays, When I Wonder About Age

I like to run for so long I feel as though my lungs are rejecting the oxygen in the

atmosphere. I imagine this to feel like growing old. To go & go & go until there is no more road

to tread. Your feet have grown numb but there is something inside of you forcing you to keep

going & your body/mind/soul wants to run until life expels and oozes out of your ribcage.

Somedays, I wonder about age and what it must look like to grow with someone

intertwined. To wrap bones with roots planted firmly in soil, sprinkling years like rainfall on

branches. How it feels to grow old & take up space, to decorate the cages of life with portraits &

postcards, hanging racks of laughter on display through the holes in chain link fences.

One day, I watched an older husband and wife at a nature preserve for what seemed like

hours. They sat as close as they could, humidity creating a gap between the insides of their

thighs, white hair sticking to foreheads like wet paint on concrete.

The woman would still every so often to show the man her favorite animals. Smile & say,

“I want us to be as happy as these birds one day.” Laugh at a family of otters, comparing the

slick stomachs to their own legs and arms, pointing at an albino peacock then at themselves,

ruffing each other's tufts of hair.

I pray that one day I am able to find myself in otters and peacocks, be able to trace the

wrinkles on my arm and mistake them for braille. Write stories of love & youth & growth in the

creases of my smile lines. One day, I will be able to put my ears to the cool dirt of the Earth and

hear it gently calling me back home; I will allow the ground to carry me back. One day, I will

finally understand what it means to bury mistakes in the ground and watch it grow with the

spring.

Allow my skin to be hot & humid but remain still & safe. Find coolness in conversations

and hearty giggles. Allowing hair to swell up and outwards, cheeks flushed with the pinks and

reds of sky. Somedays I wonder if this can only happen with age. To be comfortable in the

elastic that wraps your bones. To put down your weapon of a body and cradle the lasting

remains.

Karmiah Smith ‘26

I was inspired based on an older couple I saw at a nature preserve over the summer. Through my poem I was able to process what aging means to me, and tried to convey how it doesn't have to be an inherently good or bad thing. I think aging doesn't have to be "a means to an end", and can instead be looked at as another stepping point in life.