It’s the day after,
After what? she asks,
After a lifetime of the days before.
Before what?
Before turning 60.
I’m 60 and 1 day old,
As new as the newborn yawning in her crib.
As old as the antique bench where I sit,
Right this moment.
So how does it feel?
How does what feel?
How does 60 and 1 day feel?
It feels mysterious like love around the corner,
And fragile like a connection taking hold,
Maybe,
Certainly,
Almost there,
Way off in the distance.
Yet, right here,
With myself,
I’m landing in the connection.
A love supreme.
The newborn stretches,
The antique bench settles.
Evie Preston