Saturday Poem / When you are old

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you might recall this cafe in Grove City, Pennsylvania
waiting for your six-year-old daughter riding Rusty
at her ponyback lesson -- you sipped latte in a large mug
and read the work of an ancient poet, listening to the rain
on the slate, all alone, and happy. When you are old
this will be another day blurred in a lifetime of days,
a day in which you wrote: I love this life, but how
can I translate that love into words?, a day in which
you compared your wife to one of those slender white
Madonna lilies blossoming in her garden, a day in which
you read: let the moment expand, until time reveal its illusion,
the illusion of this day, the day you wrote this, remember?

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Philip Terman teaches creative writing and literature at Clarion University of Pennsylvania and co-directs the Chautauqua Writers' Festival. His most recent books of poetry are "The Torah Garden" and "Rabbis of the Air." Recent poems have appeared in Poetry, The Sun Magazine and The Autumn House Anthology of Contemporary Poetry.


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