TURN THE PAGE
Self-help books have long been our friends.
Guiding us through rocky starts, middles and ends.
In our twenties and thirties, underlined and dog-eared they lined our walls.
Trampolines for lightening falls.
In our forties and fifties, asking us to surrender, let go.
Then promising us we’ll regain control.
But in our sixties letting go is no guarantee
That things will work out how we want them to be.
On the eve of seventy, surrendering now is feeling reckless.
Guess I’ll need to try self-helpless.
