poem: stephanie vogel

Old dogs

I’m approaching mid-century.

A lot closer than farther.

Hot rod careening toward gold rush.

But I don’t fear it -

Things I’ve learned in the last 10 or so years:

I learned how to run.

And have traveled quite some distance.

Not fast or notably when compared to most.

But I’ve worn away more tread than couch cushions since.

I learned how to start over.

To reinvent after a long time spent in one place.

Giving away everything minus what fit in my suitcases.

And boarding a plane for a new life. Closer to home.

I learned how to live alone.

How did it take me until just before two score to have the occasion?

No roommates. No bedfellow. Me and a mattress.

And a photo album of other lives lived, more populous.

I learned how to help someone die.

I help the straw to her drying lips. As her wanting eyes wait.

For something I will never know how to give. To sit bedside.

And meditate to the rhythm of dying breaths. To just be there.

I learned how to be wrong. To accept it.

To not let my ego be entwined with rightness or righteousness.

To sit in the dirt of my mediocre and wash myself clean.

And use my fanciest lotion to sooth my own skin.