I wrote this odd and quite probably overlong poem early in the morning a few days ago, before showering and shaving, pecking away at the keyboard of my iPhone like a bird snatching in the grass at grubs or chubby worms. It came to me in the night, and I wrote down as many of the words as I could recall when I woke. All of this, maybe 48 hours, at most, before what would have been my Mom’s 96th birthday, if she’d made it that far on her own journey.
Old age is not a country I ever thought to visit But it was always on my itinerary Unless some alternative Proved impossible to resist So here I am Enjoying the views Not bad so far although I hear It gets tougher As you journey farther inland Not for the faint of heart Or short of breath I've noticed the hills are getting steeper Getting old isn’t all it’s cracked up to be I joke to anyone who will listen Some smile wanly but I fear One day the humor will fade This land has two implacable gods Gravity and Entropy who rule unchallenged And brook no dissent Already I notice that although I am still me Some parts no longer work In their accustomed ways Or argue with me when I need their aid There is no complaint center No one to hear except my fellow travelers Who have their own issues The journey’s end I’ve long known— But haven’t always pondered sufficiently— Could come around any bend Or, as if on a corridor of unknown But circumscribed length, Behind any door. But there is no use pausing And no refunds are offered on this one-way excursion Some travelers grumble or go a bit haywire Others march along while they can, some singing or humming, Others in silence Some falter or vanish like smoke in the wind Some say the destination is a promised land, others sweet oblivion, but since there are no signposts or guides Their suppositions are just that Theories that may sustain but can’t Tell me what I will find around that final bend coming always closer.
Another wonderful piece, Chris.
Like you, I wonder but am not certain, and I have never liked surprises, being the planner I am.
I think this is why grandchildren are considered the prize, the great sweetness at the end of life.
I am a "fellow traveler" with my own issues, as you write. Someone smarter than me once said, " It's the journey, not the destination." Nicely written, Chris.