Icy gnarled fingers
Troll the edge of the wall
A slow macabre dance
Creeping ever so tentatively
Around that corner
Poised at times like question marks
Then releasing with a great sigh…
To embrace the vast emptiness?
(Or maybe at long last to grasp truth.)
Yes…I know this isn’t my usual type of post. But as my header warns: “Thoughts. Spinning. Lots of ‘em.”
These were brought on by a recent conversation I had with a woman friend who is 97 years old and still lives on her own!
We should all be so lucky. Not that she always feels lucky since everyone she ever loved is now gone and she is alone. As another friend often says “These are our choices?”
And so, thinking about all this I was moved to write this poem. In the end, no matter what else happens we have ourselves for as long as we live. And it is with ourself, I think, we must make peace. And it is also within ourself we must ultimately find the joy.