The Journaling Class at the Age West Senior Center

 Some entered the room with walkers, others still with a bounce in their step,

We assembled around three large laminate tables, the ones with the folding legs,

We are of the age where we carry a spiral bound notebook to make notes along the way,

This is how memories are stored. 

George always begins the session, casting a spell of writing magic upon us all as

He circles the table.  

Carol sings a little song and plays guitar and everyone shares a bit of their latest

Adventures, those that are not too gay, of deaths, divorce, but yet a sunny day and a visit from a 

Grandchild.  

We are of the age of truths, not deception.  There is no Instagram in that room, 

Only Ann talks much longer than the unspoken limit on sharing news.

We wait with an outward patience that comes to us of a certain age.  

After a short discussion to generate promising prompts,

Jackie sets the timer to 20 minutes and the writing begins!  

We may write to exorcise the thoughts which keep us up at night, 

Or write to an interesting prompt, or maybe to memorialize the deepest 

Grief or a profound happiness, maybe the way the sunlight filters through 

The tree canopy or what happened before, what is yet to happen, our fears

And hopes, maybe we just start writing and upon rereading, we learn more

About ourselves.

And when the timer rings, we go around the room and Ann and George, 

Jackie and Carol, and all the others, maybe read what they have written.

George closes the circle, by walking his lanky frame around the table,

Casting a spell to carry us back into the outside world. 

Ann raises up to leave with her walker, I walk out to my bicycle

And the world spins, each adventure a new word waiting to be written.