Mine to have but not to keep—the long view, looking out at time,the future from a mountain top,the grand vista, the view non-stopof lofty peak and far outcrop—the only limit was the climb. I owned the possibilityof what was on the other sideof any hilltop, any year,across an ocean, beyond there,the future huge and little… Continue reading Of Shortened Time
Tag: #aging
Synchronicity
When you think of her one day,say, twenty years after you last saw her,and you had heard she let her hair gosnow white at age forty-somethingand you wonder if she's still workingand how old the twins are now. When you discover a trail the same daythat you didn't know anything aboutand it leads you across… Continue reading Synchronicity
What I Remember
are mournful gulls,the hollow clang of lobster boat bells,the cloak of November melancholy misting over a small harbor town,a place facing backward at Pleistocene tides,at gravity’s pull on the moon and the sea. I often felt sad at my parents' home.When my plane touched down, I sank in the cold,the constant swashing ebbing and flowthat… Continue reading What I Remember
Which Way Is the Past?
I finally replaced our basketball netwith a brand new ultra-white version of hope—imagined us shooting hoops again soon,defying the athletic limits of age. Who knows, I said, the kids might returnand we’d show their children how to play "Horse,"—who's first to get a hoop for each letter—and time could stall like the arc of the… Continue reading Which Way Is the Past?
To an Old Dog Named Lucy*
The number of steps to the escape hatch and the lake of grass that's in the backyard, the distance to the sidewalk of sun and the warmth that makes your tail tick-tock, directions west to food and water and east to the winding carpeted stairs— behind your silenced ears and blind eyes there’s a map… Continue reading To an Old Dog Named Lucy*
Willow and Bark
Her name is June, though she's willow as spring. I am coast live oak in the fall. She is a dimple in milk-glass skin. I am skin corrugated like bark. We sail a butterfly kite at the beach; when she cartwheels, her hair anoints the sand. I pace myself and search for its offerings— bi-valve… Continue reading Willow and Bark