“I was hunkered down
with Miss Lady Lonely
last night
my old friend;
silent
dark
and remorse-fulled
staring hard at my foibles
as I tossed my Ignorements
toward her.
"I don't even see you," I said,
distracting myself
from her
sipping my Glass of Forever Wine
hunkered down with
my TV show
because
these are my wedges
against the dark
in the living room
with my Unreminders
that you are gone
another in that
parade;
how could you die
only sixty two
and she,
who knew
she was even sick.
You can't explain to youth
how when people you knew
as bustling youth
leave our bosom;
it is a shock
because like youth
us older ones
still think we are immortal
as we were at 22
death and leaving
was only something for the weak
and infirm
and that
God knows
is and was not us.
The ones who have known
terrible illness of course know
they know
they brushed by
that ultimate sense of diminishment
but don’t often
speak of it
because it is Unutterable;
and it makes the living
uneasy;
so it is only to you
Miss Lonely
we can speak
us survivors
seeking out
your bright eyes
your
all knowing
too wise sad smile
that
too patient staring
you do.
I sit here
by the phone
dreading its ring
telling of
another friend
or lover gone
things youth
will never understand
I sit with just you
in my life
hunkered down
in your comforting
void.
But then
Kindness intervenes
here often
in this the third quarter
of my middle ages
stiffiling my memories
and the sadnessness they entail
leaving only
this painless
hum
of past musings
sweetened
by only half remembered
memories
rendering them now
less painful
now mere
misty
utterings.
When I started writing just a few years ago, it was because I could. Now it is about all I can do. I'm glad for the epiphany. I've got something to write about, and I mean to do it. Lonnie, your writing is much deeper and more profound than mine, so I cannot offer you any advice beyond this: Keep it up. The world needs you. You touch nerve centers that need stirring. And you do it without rancor.
We need some younger blood to boil the pot a little. I often said, just yesterday, that the hardest part about aging was keeping oneself motivated, engaged, excited about life. I still say that, but without as much enthusiasm. Unhunker is probably not a word, wouldn't even want it to be, but we need to do that. Too many good minds and wide experience facing that golden path reality these days! What sort of legacy is that? We need to be the younger blood we seek. Too well, done, Mr. Hicks. Give us that Frank Herbert sermon, that good stuff! The one in which we go on and on into countless dimensions, the germ of our existence alive in every eternal charm ...
Will got me to thinking. Just heard of another death yesterday. Missed the funeral. I recall my boss, long dead now, of an aneurysm at 59, in the airport returning from a trip to Africa saying about 30 years ago, "Why is everybody dying around here!" As vice president, his staff included about 500 people, several had died from various circumstances.
As we age, our circle of friends and acquaintances dwindle, and finally, all we have is loneliness for companion. My uncle at 101 kept asking for a bucket, "so he could kick it." My mother who still has television and some companionship in an assisted living home, just lost a good friend to cancer last week. She may not even be able to attend the funeral.
I sense what you've written about is coming for me in due time. I will look for Miss Lonely around the corner.
A further collection of poems, many from years in the Middle East, but also the California San Francisco and Central Coast areas (Santa Cruz, Carmel, Big Sur, Berkeley, etc.).
