Half Life

“Time makes you bolder,
children get older.”
—Stevie Nicks, “Landslide”

I am more south
of the equator now,
more soft than taut,
more puff than pluck,
I am “falling upwards”
as they say, after 50.

I’ve climbed a mountain
and turned around …

Fifty percent is half,
a fifty is a pass,
fifty-five is a senior now,
50/50 can be both/and.
What is the half-life of love, energy,
light, my own upward downspin?

Oh age, you are a soft, strong word.
I am getting bolder—see my reflections—
just quit my job after twelve years, said no
to skirting the issues, no apology,
no regret. I am getting older—
don’t want to waste my precious helium,
let bones or ballast weigh me down,

I will levitate
this second half, want to rise above
what made me mad, let go of anger,
see the big picture, uplift others.

I want to gather all those around me,
with the same lightness of air,
tie our red balloon strings loosely
into a sling

that will lift, leavening us up, up
in whatever time is left.