i wonder if by age seventy i will still feel like a sunflower

will i have embraced the heat that comes from turning my head to the sun,

which while giving me life, scorched the surface of my skin?

or will its light still be an unbearable reminder of the bed i have not made and the people i have not loved 

i know many women who have never lost their spirits,

roses whose memories of morning dew brightened their complexion

and poppies with cheeks as vibrantly pink 

as when they were young girls striving for perfection.

this does not give me reason to worry, but forgive me if when i look back, 

the only thing i had wanted 

was comfortable soil to plant my feet in