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Aging
excerpted from
Memories, Dreams, Reflections
The more uncertain I have felt about myself, the more there has grown up in me a feeling of kinship with all things. In fact it seems to me as if that alienation which so long separated me from the world has become transferred into my own inner world, and has revealed to me an unexpected unfamiliarity with myself.
July 2012Faithful Over A Few Things
Faithfully, every week, I visit Elsie, age ninety-two. We’ve been friends for thirteen years. For the first ten she was my neighbor on a street of homes built in the 1930s and 1940s and shaded by large sycamores. Then, three years ago, I left my husband behind in the gray duplex we shared, and ever since, I have driven twenty minutes from the neighboring town for our weekly evening of chatting and bad television.
May 2012
Reading The Water
For the last seven years, my father and I have kayaked a thirty-six-mile portion of Oregon’s Rogue River each August. We run the river in an inflatable kayak, him reading the water and me providing the manpower to paddle the boat through world-class rapids.
April 2012
Benedicta
My ninety-two-year-old grandmother died on August 1, 2009, after a long decline. I wasn’t there during her last moment. Nobody was. The nursing home said she died at 1:45 PM, which is when the nursing-home attendants — underpaid women in practical shoes, with pictures of toddlers in their pockets — had gone about their routine bed checks, entered her room, and found she was no longer breathing.
April 2012
Getting Ready
You know where you start, but you don’t know where / you’ll end up, so never begin a trip on an empty stomach, / my uncle Enrique said, pulling into the brand-new / Wendy’s, the first in Costa Rica.
April 2012Lilies At Midnight
The lilies leaning from their vase, opening / their legs, their arms, even their splitting pale-pink torsos / over the kitchen table — / its clutter of bills and crumbs.
February 2012A Country Where You Once Lived
It starts when you’re thirteen, and those tight shorts make your crotch wet when you ride your bike. You like these shorts, the way they make you feel this new way: sexy. You fall asleep at night thinking about sex. You listen to songs that encourage you to think about sex, and you discover you can even think about it at church and in the classroom without anyone knowing, if you keep a certain demeanor and cross your legs a certain way.
January 2012
Sunbeams
November 2011Old age is the most unexpected of all the things that happen to a man.
Your Own Damn Life
Michael Meade On The Story We’re Born With
The big story isn’t history. That’s just another substitute for the life of the human soul, which is the real story. In the long run it’s the poets, not the newspapers, who have the news. The news is a superficial exchange of information that can never tell the whole story. The poets tell us we’re in this great, ongoing dance that includes opportunities to fight and love and fall down and get back up. Hopefully we have the occasional chance to do our particular dance in the middle of all that.
November 2011
Incontinence
The stain ran a trail down his pleated / Cords, but I didn’t quite register the fact, / And only later realized that it meant / He’d pissed himself.
June 2011
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