Trina Porte




aging in america

seasons morph into test protocols
mammo equals spring
when it’s the best weather
for not being able to wear deodorant
and swimming equals
winter migration to indoor exercise
avoiding the treacherous ice
absent from autumn’s daily thirty minutes
of strenuous bargaining with god
for the sacrament of fried food
to bless our meals with deliciousness
as if arteries were unruly children
who can be bribed into good behavior
and mortality were not a freight train
just an automatic watch
able to be rocked gently for unlimited use


happy new year after all

a warm wave of music
buoys a rare smile
surfacing unexpected pleasure
at the f.o.e. this subzero night

muscle memory overrides
months of anxious sadness
as my feet follow an unknown woman
across a dance floor in rhythmic surprise

me as a follower
held in the arms of anyone
doing the same dance as a roomful of people
i’ve never seen before

enjoying what it feels like
to relax
without having any idea
what comes next


on the need to re-establish sovereignty over my own heart

because machines hum even if they do not sing
because the heart is actually made of muscle
because the silver in my hair will one day be spent
because the sun will rise on the day i am no longer married
            just as it will each day after


About the Author

Publisher of Chickaree Press and poet extraordinaire, Trina Porte used to live in the woods of upstate New York, but moved to Minneapolis MN to be near friends post-divorce. She will miss the birds and frogs outside her windows, but now enjoys the convenience of nearby human beings and Asian restaurants instead. And thank the universe, she can still hear peepers hidden in the city shrubbery.

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