Turning Forty

Standing waist deep
in crumpled days,

emptied skins
now discarded

you hold the final box,
the last present present

full
as the others once were

with such promise.
Your hand is poised

to tear the seal,
to reveal

a new thing,
an old thing,

a moment
of such sameness

that you must
pay attention

to see yourself
as you are.

So pause,
fill your lungs

hold it tight
in your chest,

a warm embrace
for a you

who never was,
who must now

turn back at the gate,
one

still cloaked
in a heavy veil.

Copyright © 2018 by AJ Saur, from Odds n’ Ends (Murmuration Press)