aging in the 21st century by Margaret Stacy

to be a teenager 

is to be a dinosaur 

in the bird exhibit 

I’m almost like you 

but I will never be 

and I seem to breathe 

like I never learned how 

dialects of dust 

collect on my arm hairs 

they wave without shame 

in the water-smooth  

breeze 

of my ceiling fan 

I see freckles appear 

up and down 

my muscle-thin legs 

see them stretch with 

my flesh as my bones  

fit uncomfortably beneath 

I seem so close to death 

I can feel its breath  

on the door