Fifty and I

Fifty and I am
trapped
in this life I’d cultivated.
Careful, if you’re not so careful

years add to fifty and still feel chained
to the ground
wings clipped
by own teeth, shearing one
feather at a time
until bones exposed
through the thin skin.

Fifty and I am
grateful for this life and you
who play a part in this cultivation of
being me
Fifty and I want to learn-

Still a child growing up
slowly to find her fingers
capable of doing
so many new things. 
Fifty and I can’t find
my voice
lost it somewhere in the thirties.
Fifty and I tread in this house
like a pair of burglars
afraid

of being heard & seen
breaking fragile things.
This human  fraying
at the seams, threaded too loose
for a set of wings.