After writing this post and reading it later, I decided to make some necessary revisions to bolster the piece's structure. And, although I feel like the changes more accurately reflect the hope that I hold onto concerning my own mortality, I also believe the emotion that inspired these thoughts has been slightly diluted.
As my children grow so quickly, and the years slip by rapidly, and the seasons come and go, and life changes, and I go for strolls in the local cemetery, and I see the gravestones of so many- both young and old; individuals who have passed within the last year or 150 years ago; husbands who have been waiting for 15 years for their wives to join them- it is impossible for me to not consider my own mortality.
Nothing sobers me with the truth that our lives are just blades of grass, quite like standing in a field of gravestones. It strikes a wistful nostalgia within me- to consider the lives of people whose paths I've never crossed. How strange to realize that one day, I will be placed in a spot similar to this (and most days I am unaware how rapidly that day is approaching. But at times like these, I am very conscious of that fact). Observed. Contemplated. Considered. To understand that someday my children will reflect upon life at the stone placed above my head- and then years later, the child or children of someone whom I have never met. These thoughts are the roots of the following entry....
...Flying V...
--------------
Honking heads,
-oVerhead-
Simulate horns of rapture.
Is it that time?
-Again?
-Already????
(pause)
And graying skies,
-oVerhead-
Resound in graying beards,
(pause)
And foretell of gray stones,
-oVerhead-
My spirit caught in a migrating skein.
...Selah...
--------------
Honking heads,
-oVerhead-
Simulate horns of rapture.
Is it that time?
-Again?
-Already????
(pause)
And graying skies,
-oVerhead-
Resound in graying beards,
(pause)
And foretell of gray stones,
-oVerhead-
My spirit caught in a migrating skein.
...Selah...
word. just yesterday i was on a break between classes and went to check out the billboards as i routinely do and a flyer caught my eye. it had a few pictures of two beatiful children, one & three maybe. not far off from the ages of my two. it was advertising a fund drive for a family who had lost the father for reasons unrevealed. he'd died less then two weeks ago. my heart broke for them. i often wheel a client that i work with thru the cemetary adjacent the house they live in. so many old graves. i imagine an entirely different generation of folks walking the same grounds we tread before any of us even breathed. so strange to think of. one way or another, our time is coming. it's difficult not be grim with so much tragedy going on without ever letting up. with few promises in this life i can't help but to comfort myself with hopes of the next. i don't know how others comfort themselves from these fears & uncertainties.
ReplyDeleteI had to make some changes...let me know what you think.
ReplyDeleteAfter I read your work it made me think of a short poem I had written right after the death of Olivia's husband. Josh, I don't know if you remember her or Tommy (he drove a big rig)but I remember talking to Tommy on a Sunday and then getting a call the following Sunday from Marvin that he was in a terrible accident (black ice) and that he had died. Here is the poem I wrote:
ReplyDeletePed(t)als
life is composed of cars and roses
both are crushed by the feet
that press the ped(t)als
I definitely remember both of them. It's funny, because I have a copy of this poem somewher and it was always one of my favorites that you have written...I did not know about the connection with Tommy....beautiful piece and great background story.
ReplyDelete