My mother died.
She was my old lady role model.
I longed to get old so I could live her simple life,
reading a whole book in a single day,
washing a handful of dishes,
drinking a glass of prune juice before bed.
We had agreed that we were both going to live to be a hundred,
but she reneged at 83.
I guess that’s why I feel this sudden need
to pull the loose ends of my life together,
to learn my history,
and to make a first draft of my last words.
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