The Years

Feeling old in a cup of coffee

lost in the pale orange rising

of burning light

eight minutes fresh

of Bradford pear trees

wearing their snowy coats

of bloom

of passing an elementary school

that fifteen years ago

my engaged daughter

was waiting in pigtails

and an oversized backpack

I sat in my car

condensation on the windows

engine warming

mug in hand

Beside me

a son

with a water bottle

his iPod

and hair unkept

a silent protest

and I thought of my father

and his cough in the mornings

a signature to say he was old

and I was not

that he was out of touch

and I knew better

that his days were numbered

and mine just beginning

and I thought as I sat in the car

what my son must have been thinking

as the aroma of my coffee

filled the cabin

He didn't have to say it

and probably didn't even think it

but I felt old

with my mug

needing my coffee

and I wondered

where all the years had gone