5:54 a.m.
Light peeking through the trees,
a reminder of the life that goes on
whether I’m present or not.
Present whether I know the date or the day,
but can still respond to my name
which remains viable and active
as validated by the US Postal Service.
The flowing light settles on treasures
buried amidst what used to be
space in the cave
that passes for an adorable house
if you’re driving by.
That seems to be all there is now.
Was. A lot of WAS.
Maybe I shall change my last name to Wasnick.
A tribute to the days I and life mattered.
Well, what about Nownick? Not much interest
with the exception of the IRS and junk mail.
And People? ah yes, People. Well,
not so much interest there anymore either.
They’ve lost their licenses or need to.
They are moving. Into a “home”, in with their kids.
They “remarry” after the attorney visits.
They die.
They become Botox junkies,
body-sculpting junkies,
anesthesia junkies.
On-Line junkies.
Either,
I have lost my sense of humor
or they/them/those
are no longer funny. Or interesting.
Or kind.
So, here in the cavern,
what shall go first:
the books I’ve saved or culled
at multiple yard sales to read later,
(and if now isn’t later,
I’ll have to ask Ernest Hemingway
when I see him about that tolling bell);
photos with people taken somewhere,
at some point,
some of whom I can’t name,
some of whom are dead;
cards with writing I can no longer read;
cards I’ve been meaning to send
to people who have since died or no longer correspond
as per their children’s notification;
pens from every conference I ever attended;
stationery I drag out occasionally
when I apply my bad handwriting the old-school way.
Did I say books?
Hmmm,
so when the mortician comes,
will I be frozen at my desk amidst the light,
a plate of blood-orange rinds to my right,
next to the cold coffee?
Time to take control!
Oh my, that word-
as if it meant something to me anymore.
I would be thin if it did. So,
I shall continue to wait for the light
to find its way into my life,
and I shall honor the imagination I have left
regarding change
and nourish my sense of humor,
as I take the last bite of half an onion bagel
buried in spinach-artichoke dip.
