Member Poem

I sit on a bench by the brick building
that was a textile institute a hundred years ago
as composition classes shuttle in and out.
I slide sunglasses over my reading glasses
and open a paperback of poems.
After each, I pause to let the words settle.

Staff and students weave around each other
on skinny sidewalks. They notice me.
Some point. Are they surprised because
I’m wearing double glasses? Or because
I’m reading paper pages?

I’m struck by the opportunity to embrace
my oldness with my oddness—to be
without a phone
and in no hurry.

Published in Teach. Write.