esterbloom.com

to wit:

I will be a stout

and blissful seventy,

with a stomach like a cushion

for my breasts

sturdy legs to walk me

round and round the zoo,

with one hand on some man

for support

which man, with luck, will

make me laugh across tables

accompany me to cinemas

or mountains

and with me watch retreating snow

reveal mirrors, and birds dislodge

shards of songs

from their throats

maybe, by the time I�m old,

science will have found a way

for women to give birth

to grandkids

so I can have some

They�ll bake cookies to feed me

and frame the poems I

write for them

some of which may be famous

if I am, in certain circles

I�ll remember when people

envied me

told me I changed their conception

of beauty, or slept with me

to spurt urgent, sour words

on my sheets

I�ll tell stories, when I�m 70,

of my affair with the president,

who had me write on him with

fountain pens

and had to explain

to the president of Cameroon

why �fleetingly fascinating�

circled his wrist

and I�ll grow faint and wistful

telling stories: at 70, stories

are what�s left, and more than

half fiction.