• Marian Glaser


By Marian Glaser ©

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I can’t climb trees now or

run down stairs so fast

it feels like floating.

Jump jiving is a memory,

my first try fifty years ago.

With spring life wakens,

flaunting new growth,

sure of strength,

oblivious of death’s presence.

A skull bleaching has no relevance to

sun-tan oiled bathers.

It’s surrounding by empty space,

holes without eyes,

a memento mori now,

minus the life that

leapt, ran, sang and loved.

That dead stillness mimics

my lost young exuberance.

I accept my metamorphosis,

exploring the capacities

of this new body.

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