I wrote this poem on my 58th Birthday. Things have changed a bit since then, but it still says a lot about my life.
by Alice Woodrome
Life is digging in the dirt and loving it.
It's planting a bulb in the cool earth and waiting for spring.
Life is pulling weeds to give my flowers room to grow.
and watching a stargazer lily open it's ruby throat to the sun.
Life is doing a pile of dirty dishes and folding laundry.
It's mopping a floor that looks clean for fifteen minutes.
It's kneading bread and making savory vegetable soup
And setting the table for two.
Life is a hot cup of coffee with the morning paper
It's walking a mile or two each day for the exercise
Life is learning to play the piano, reading a book of poetry
And going out for a double hot fudge sundae
Life is waiting for a call and driving downtown when it comes.
It's meeting her on some street corner and doing what I can.
It's writing it down to make sense of it all.
It's hoping and praying and fearing the worst.
Life is writing letters to my online friends.
checking my email and reading the list.
It's letters to the editor and phone calls to strangers.
And learning what I can about schizophrenia.
Life is sitting on the carpet to play with Annie
It's going to the nursery to shop for plants.
It's going to garden club to talk about daffodils and pansies
Or zinnias and lilies – anything but schizophrenia.