The Process, a poem by John Grey at
Charisse Kenion

The Process

The Process

written by: John Grey


It’s inevitable.
Someone will always mention
the grey in my hair.

Maybe it’s relief that
they’re not the only ones
confronted by that trace of silver
in the morning mirror.

Or they’ll call and say,
“Did you hear who died?”
One of our peers
have popped up
in the obituary column.

They totter between,
“At least, I’m still living”
and “How come I’m not dead.”

Whatever happens, happens, I tell them.
being helpless helps.

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