Turning Thirty

And so it has been
three full decades.
The first one marked out
in a neat row on the chalkboard,
rhymed and colorful.
The next, glommed together
In a reckless, vibrant heap of late teens
and early twenties.
Followed by this last set
of full, budding years -
a crucible of human experience,
of realizing and forsaking dreams.

At thirty, coming into my own.
Full-grown
but young and open and fertile.
Stronger because of failures,
not yet overwhelmed by grief.
Walking more securely through life,
with a healthy tiredness
attesting to so much hard work.

Jesus was thirty
when he went out to preach.
Old enough to really know
the world he cried out to
and young enough to love it
in spite of what it was.

My own mother was thirty
when she bore me,
her fourth darling –
and most like her.

There is a pride comes with thirty
we look forward to it
we advertise it
and hesitate to move beyond it.

There is an introspection comes at thirty
Tallying up what we amount to,
setting our sites a bit higher,
striving for the mark with fervor.
At thirty we have permission
to fine tune things
or completely restructure
before it is too late.

Because forty will be set in its ways
and growing old will then be
imminent.

(C) Tasha Chinnock 2007