Perimenopause

I have known since I was quite small that I didn’t want to have children. And now, as I am approaching menopause with ever-increasing impatience, I am taking a moment to pause and reflect on the cycling of my body that happens without my guidance or direction.

I have had this conversation with my body

since the age of 35 --

("advanced maternal age," according to my gynecologist--

the hard line between natural and high risk.)

Every month or so I whisper,

with gradually increasing vehemence:

"We are done now. We can be done."

My body had other plans.

So when I finally started to feel the hints of menopause approaching--

the vertigo, the strange flush on my cheeks --

I rejoiced.

I danced for every sleepless night.

I celebrated every sweat-through sheet.

And still, every month or so,

the bright red reminder that my body follows its own time,

a river that flows underneath my conscious mind.

Slowly, like the breath of my sleeping Beloved on my face,

the realization comes to me---

I will not know the last time.

I will not know if this month, this cycle, this roseate moon

is the final one of my earthly existence.

There will be no sign to tell me this one is the sacred final one.

So every month or so I whisper,

with gradually increasing tenderness,

"Thank you. I love you.

Thank you. I love you.

Thank you. I love you."