Know, my dears, that age is about perspective.
We donÂ’t tear down the Redwoods
just because theyÂ’re old.
And some of us arenÂ’t even ancient trees;
even the young can fall.

Lynnie drank too much in her day and, slowly,
her brain began to reject health and reality
so now she has full alcohol-induced
dementia, thinking she still resides in her
childhood home of Hutchins Corners.
Lynnie is forty-nine.

HowardÂ’s only problem, on the other hand,
is that he sometimes forgets his daughterÂ’s names.
He is ninety-four and asks the ladies to go
down to the city for a drink.

We are a forest of many. And then there
is me: sixty-four. By this age, IÂ’d planned
on retiring and traveling to Kosovo
to do charity work, but I am in the first
stages of AlzheimerÂ’s, perhaps,
the most frightening one.

I can see the road I will go down as
I look around. The slipping, the fall.
ItÂ’s hard to see the dark hall IÂ’ll be
walking down one day, no choice
to go back, my body failing me.
But I will never forget the old trees
in the woods who are still
standing strong.
I will keep walking for them.

01/15/2006

Posted on 01/15/2006
Copyright © 2024 Lisa Marie Brodsky