Silver What?

92 years old

he tells us his days are good.

He volunteers

two days a week

and goes to see

his personal trainer.

Is it Silver Sneakers,

I ask.

Yes it is, he affirms.

The conversation drifts to other things

until he wants to say something about

Silver Sneakers

only it comes out

Silver Streakers.

Silver Streakers!

So that is what keeps him so young!

I want to be a part of that! I say.

Just a crack
I pulled back the curtain
drawn over my secret self.
Exposed some small truth hidden inside.
Insecurity, fear,
measured out
testing.
Will it be held in contempt
or with care and tenderness?
Will fragile vulnerability be sidelined with humor,
monitored for advice,
trolled for criticism?
But  you,
you took my words and held them close
as you would a  bird with broken wing,
cautious, tender.
And then you cracked open your own curtain
with truth telling and pooling eyes
you passed the wounded bird to my hands
to hold gently
as our two selves breathed freer
accompanied
in  human experience by caring presence.
no longer alone.

Watching the Light go out


Brightly colored
fire driven lantern
rises steadily, purposefully,
growing smaller
carries it’s brightness
into a vast mellow sunset
to remember a life
whose light
flickered in years of confusion
and then went out.

I watch
remembering lost words,
lost smiles, lost cognition,
suffering,
that ever so gradually stole his light
his wit, gregariousness
his very person.

I will the light not to disappear
my eyes track it
my heart  tugged along
until it becomes a dot
and disappears into the vastness of eternity.

I say, goodbye,
call my heart back
to the ground under my feet
to the lights and voices around me,
to life without the light that went out.

Take hold
of that small hand
that reaches out to you
with longing to belong.
It is your own.

Look deep into your searching eyes,
hungry for compassion.
Give invitation
to be known without judgement.

Hold the pain and tears
you find there
with care and understanding.

Tell her-or him
you will no longer ignore
cries of fear
but will hear them with
nurturing reassurance.
Of course you are scared, or angry, or sad.
There are good reasons.

Walk that small child within
through it’s pain
to this side of knowing,
It is seen.
It is known.
it is loved.
By you.

Wrap arms around that inner waif
and journey home
to belonging
and promises of love.

ghb

Somewhere from the other side of never
he finds me
brings me “our song”
at a West Virginia roadside rest stop
along highway 77.

Car cacoon surrounds me as
familiar words transport to long ago anniversary
“You’re once, twice, three times a lady
and I love you.”
Staring silently out the window
I feel the loss of
a life taken too soon.
Eyes blur at the memory.

He finds me again
miles up the road hours later
among Marc’s grocery store shelves
looking for eggs
I suddenly stop
rooted to the floor
listening to the words like a delayed echo
across the divide
the same song.
Shoppers walk by oblivious.

Third time, five days later
NPR grabs my attention
and breath
one day before Valentines Day.

“Yes, you’re once, twice, three times a lady
and nothing can keep us apart.”

Maybe it’s true.
Maybe “nothing can keep us apart.”
I hear you, I hear you
all the way across never.

ghb