This Aging Thing

by Patti Rogers

I hear myself as I climb the stairs.
This aging thing.
This aging thing has no good end.

At the top of the stairs
I am laughing.

This living thing.
This living thing has no good end.

I look down the long hall.
It can't be that simple.

I think I will sleep in the back bedroom.
And look right out at the night sky.

The floors creak with each step
and cats, looking up,
watch through half-opened eyes.

Downstairs, the unmistakable thump
of the old cat landing on the floor.
I smile.