When did the season change?
How quickly mousy turned to silver and
supple morphed into road maps of memories.
Where flew the years of balancing
meals, messiness, miles, and me?
What happens next?
Who am I now?
The seasons pull me forward—
. . .
True confession—I have fallen in love with the quadrille poetic form. Creating with 44-words adds an element of challenge and forces me to examine the purpose and intent of every word and phrase. I still have much to learn, but every poem teaches me more about myself. This six-word memoir tells it all. Like the seasons, I’m the same yet always changing.