I used to run around this island
and swim off the dock.
I used to rock climb
and pick blueberries.
I could paddle a canoe.
I was strong enough to ring the dinner bell
and wash the dishes when dinner was through.
I was awake longer than the sun.
Now I am a poet,
a pill popper.
I am a dog mom,
a wave watcher,
and a blanket hogger.
My island gives me views
no matter where I am.
I can step on a flat rock without leaving the porch,
and fresh blueberries are brought to me.
I drag my fingers while others paddle.
I hear the bell chime,
and I wait for the gathering of loved ones.
I see the sun setting as I drift in my own way.