I remember when age was not respected.
When age was a creepy widower, a suspicious old man,
a shadow behind every curtain pushed through dim-lit windows.
You would never, ever,
ever, trick or treat there.
On the bright side: I remember Grandpa
slipping into my suspicious hand a folded one-dollar bill;
for a chore, a treat, or, for just standing still.
Perhaps then, I should have rung
the old man’s door bell.
I remember when age was not respected;
standing before relics, my feet un-balanced on the water
that I once dreamed of walking on.
Now, in reality, understanding
what prevented crossing that sea;
from raindrop to stream, going back with the tide,
ebbing with what I see and have seen.
I remember, my transition
from ignoring glances,
to enlightened reflection.