by margaret bertulli

I bleed
I bleed and I wonder
“Will this be the last time?”
I bleed, therefore I am
“What will it be like?
This cessation of menses?”
The unequivocal end of child-bearing.
And my womb, though childless,
Will it feel the end of possibility?
Perhaps.
And then the unforeseen strength,
Promised by gender and age, will come.
The sureness, the wisdom,
The spirit to sing my songs.
I know this as all women before me have known.
We know this as we smile at the moon

One thought on “by margaret bertulli”

reminds me so much of that thing i once wrote as a comment on kagablog… except that, maybe, this is a more positive view of aging than i had then. see above; i managed to scratch it out.