Lucy said, write about feeling old, but not being old.
I kick off my walking shoes and sit down with a pen.

Feeling Old and Not Being Old:
It feels like wearing two pairs of socks in June.
It feels like looking out over your ocean, shiny and markedly apprehensive
you watch your Walrus and your Carpenter beckon you forth to eat.
It feels like surveying a map of your spacetime
and seeing your sixyearsold shame break bread with your fortyyearsold fear
and inevitably you are paralyzed in present.

It feels like wearing a backpack filled with stones
little laughter pebbles falling to the bottom through the cracks of the heart break rocks bundled
worn smooth from nervous touchings
time-distorts
and your mother saying, Sweetie, hi.
Your father asking, can I carry it up the stairs for you?

It feels like automatically saying No Thanks, since you are used to doing things for yourself these days.
It feels like knowing it will all still be waiting upstairs after dinner no matter how much you eat this time, the backpack heavy-sad.

It feels like wanting to shed that itchy itchy skin already but it just hasn't finished growing all the way.

It feels like seeing your face in photos of your mother from back when.
It feels like seeing your face in photos of your mother not yet taken,
it feels like always eating leftovers microwaved too long.

It feels like the globe spinning time dilation slow
a fruitless push against the head wind;
A glance at your wrist and into the air.