I gave myself a gift for my fiftieth birthday in March--Forever Fifty and other negotiations, a book of poetry by Judith Viorst. I started reading it in April in honor of National Poetry Month. It's a slim volume, only 61 pages long. My original intention was to sit and read it in one sitting. I've found that I can't do that.
The poems appear frivolous at first, witty lines about the woes and wisdom of a woman in her fifties. There's a subplot lurking beneath the wit--serious commentary on this odd stage in life when we're no longer young but don't have one foot in the grave, either.
So I savor each poem one at a time, usually before bed. I've stopped at the third from the last entry, stuck on one line, wanting to sort it out for myself, this feeling I've had since my thirties now found so eloquently stated on page 57:
"And when did we decide "mature" meant settling for a spoonful
when what we all still crave is the whole plateful?"
|The night of my fiftieth birthday.|