Written six years ago. Still adding the numbers.

Numbers

My father died at fifty-nine,
the age that I am now.

My mother lived on
another thirty-six years,
which happens to be the number
that I have been married.

Sure, these are just the kind
of meaningless coincidences
one contemplates
in the middle of a sleepless night.

Still, it does leave me wondering-
when did my numbers
grow so large?

There was a time
when I lived in the single digits,
naively unaware
of what the future held.

It was all beginnings then.
Numbers this big were inconceivable.
They belonged to my parents,
my grandparents.

They are mine now,
passed down from those
whose numbers
are all used up.

Some days,
I feel the weight of them.
Some days,
I live in their abundance.

But as always,
tomorrow
will be a new beginning,
as fresh
as the number one.

By Maria Brady-Smith
Photo by Mike Smith