‘puter

if there is a way to frustrate me

my computer will find it

banishing my belief i am not

just an old lady but young enough

still to at least know how to

turn it on

learning to accept

parking my car a block away

because construction equipment

takes all nearer spaces

i look at the seven-story structure

i am looking to move into

the thought comes to my mind

and lips: “I am coming here to die”

surprisingly, i find i am at peace

with the thought

it is where i am in my life

although i know i will fight

to treasure as much as i can retain

until i know the end is mine

elder humor

deep, wrinkled crevasses

beside her mouth

spell out her age

in decipherable hieroglyphs

but her sense of humor

stays young, biting and fun

challenging those who can see her

as a person rather than merely

an old woman

rattle-brained

rattle-brained implies

return to rattle shaking

child of play and bliss

listen to what is—and isn’t

hearing the sighs of friends

in deepening anguish at the loss

of function and companions

humbles me in contemplation

of my own demise

but what reels within my being

for the lifetimes to come

is listening to the silence

of children engulfed in the horror

fear and degradation

of hate

prophet and loss

 sound-proof room needed

no inter-office e-chatter

to decide how much less expensive

it is when a patient has dementia

to deny medical treatment

for anything else

wrinkled gratitude

wrinkles are part of me now

and colored spots sprinkled on dry skin

but my funnybone still thrives

and my eye for the glory of a sunrise

and my awe at the power

of generosity, so, despite the aches

and fears, life is still a precious gift

for which there are no adequate words

of gratitude

the aches of the elderly

 aching pain tends to diminish

the attractiveness of an old man’s surroundings

could it be nature’s way of loosening

his clinging tie to life?

Ed

a gentleman

having carried two wives

through prolonged and painful

dying, is now quietly succumbing

to infirm age while retaining

his straight back, gentle smile

and stubborn spirit of strength

and giving

it is time for him to move to live nearer

beloved daughter and extended family

but how dearly we will miss him

realistic solution

the permanent solution is surgery

but as i stumble decades old

what need have i for permanent

misstep

we watched his palsied misstep

feared his going down

his beloved gone from directing

each step in his life

leaving his weakness naked

for us to see but unable to help

except to accept quietly

as though he still were competent

dine in joy

her voice over the phone

animated, grateful, joyous

as she explained she’d taken

my rosebud with her to dinner

all who stopped by admired

its red, new-opened petals

and inhaled its fragrance

that night dining, as well,

in joy

her daughter wants her to stay

 her hopes for the small home

she wished to buy where she’d

spent decades among friends

dashed by the inspector’s report

so many things needing repair

she could have returned to doing

but not in that run-down house

she’s made friends where she now lives

her daughter, who worked front desk

is now retired but wants her to stay

since she is only fifteen minutes away

yet the writing group is now lead

by someone who reads the work

of the vision-impaired with less

than empathy and understanding

rather than greater independence

she faces slow descent to blindness

and dependency                           

embroidered with darkness

embroidered with darkness

fine net of twig and leaf shadow

gently undulates

over Daddy Ben’s rocker

human that i am

again tripped over nothing

went down slow motion

unhurt but embarrassed

and frightened of how vulnerable

i am becoming

and how little i seem to be able

to heal what is wrong

human that i am

stand down and stand by

 elderly now we

watch rather than live for

as our progeny work out

their own mistakes

and hug their chosen in triumphs

observers now of what we gave life

and fought to nurture

we are left to learn

our own eternal being

not yet

not yet

frightened? yes, a little

all my life i’ve been independent

but now the vertigo threatens; the pandemic limits

the grass grows to my waist; cobwebs drape from high ceilings

over six months i’ve grown old

but not old enough to give in

(im)balance

(im)balance

balance—so easy when young,

strong and unscarred

by the tricks and tempests

by which life distorts us

and once twisted

how difficult to move

with ease and grace

of mind or body

old age should be venerated

not ridiculed for its off-balance quirks

if only to acknowledge the pain endured

to be able to function at all

                                    mjNordgren  2/2/2022  N