I am an older, an elderly, woman

The lines on my face are etching of the seasons of my life.


I am not pretty anymore. My hair is grey, my skin sagging,

In a world fixated on youth and beauty.


I am frailer now, more fragile, more often ill.

I cannot afford all the medical care I need.


I want to tell my children stories of my life.

But they are busy, not so interested in my legacy.


I am lonely. My husband, also old, has dementia.

I feel isolated, ignored, forgotten.


What has happened to the respect for elders,

To the valuing of life from cradle to grave?


Where is social justice to care for old women

And provide for their special needs and rights?


I am an older woman, but I am very much alive.

Hear me, care about me, help me, treasure me.