Who am I, now?
I am beyond the point of no return,
more than half a century.
I am not young and I am not old,
(these things are, they say,
in the end, mere numbers.)
I am father,
my own parents gone,
yet I am still son.
I am uncle, cousin, brother,
and what are these too but
varying degrees of relative?
Names and labels sometimes fitting
but I am not a cheap portrait,
finalised in one hasty sitting.
No, no, my palette
demands much more
if I am to answer this question
with a truly perfect score.
I ask myself again, repeating the question,
who am I, now?
I am lover, fiancé, gardener, guitarist,
I am writer, widower, poet and artist.
I am blood pressure gone awry,
I am philosopher puzzling why.
I am soon to be retired,
I am all of these and so much more,
these words describe, they name,
they change, they stay the same.
Who am I now?
as I always was
and will be,