I used to rush and never sit,
Now I pause — and knit a bit.
Heels were worn for nights out then,
These days I like a shoe with bend.

My hair’s gone soft with streaks of frost,
(They say “distinguished,” I say “lost.”)
My face remembers every grin,
With creases filed neatly within.

My knees now click to morning cues,
But I still walk in trainered shoes.
I write things down I used to know —
And find I quite enjoy it though.

Names take longer to arrive,
They hover, circle, then contrive
To land mid-sentence, cool and late —
Which feels, somehow, appropriate.

• Notes On Getting On by Jay Rose Ana