turning seventy (or not)

This is something I wrote when my friend, Linda Sue, was 55 (more than a few years back) and her son, Erik, was 15. My view of 70 is much different now than it was at 50!

do you realize---
my dear girl
that when your son
has doubled his age
you will be seventy?

he will have a wife
(or not)
several children
all tow-headed and lovely
(or not)
and you will be seventy
(or not)

you might be dead instead
and flying freely among the stars
or riding without a saddle
in a flea circus somewhere
grinning and singing
and leaving the ghost of joy
in your wake

something for the living
to catch in their hands
like fireflies
and crush to their hearts
in remembrance of you

(or not)

you might be alive
and sitting with me
somewhere between
cat spring and utopia
before a dancing fire
smiling at the memory
of all those times
we killed ourselves
using only pens, paper
and dark imaginations

happy now
that we never really
took the leap
or took ourselves
too seriously

your hair a sterling silver
mine dyed a rusty red
we'd breakfast on blackberries
that the bears had overlooked
and wait for your son
and those tow-headed
kids of his
to come knocking
on our door...

(or not)

* * * * * * *

preparing to leave me

the old, old woman

my friend

forgets to remember

more every day

talking like dreaming---

scraps of what's real

all stirred up

together

with things

that never were

doves in her mind

beating their wings

scattering

the pieces of her life

the sticky notes pasted

on the woman

she once was

she talks

and talks

her strong contralto

now breathy

and wavering

a haphazard tear

forms and rolls

ever so slowly

down her velvet cheek

once artfully painted

now exposed

her pride put aside

her wispy white hair

glittering silver still

hangs lank

and unattended

like a garden

of memories forgotten

she looks at me

closely

and clutches my hand

for a moment

as if to anchor

us to the present

then she tells me

about the friend

she once had

a long time ago

never suspecting

that I'm the one

she's talking about

"oh, the times

we had together"

she says

her eyes young

and bright

i nod and

i smile and think,

"oh, the times

we had together

indeed."

she loves

my memory

but she doesn't

know me

i've been fixed

in her mind

in another time

i mourn her passing

even as she talks on

remembering

forgetting

preparing

to leave me...

* * * * * * *