My brain leaks sometimes
Spilling grey, like a wash
To run into the crevices
Darkening the creases
Of what my eyes show me
My ears tell me
And fingers know to be true
A month ago I watched
Staring from the street
As you helped me from a bench
And into a chair with wheels
Then, you rolled me into our home
We were smiling, the two of us
And the cat followed
Before dinner, you prepared my tablets
I reminded you to take yours
We're curled on the couch after
Computer on my lap, tome in your hands
Our free, shaking digits touching
Nothing in mind, only each other
And the cuddles we've saved for later
Quick-snap and its gone
Poured back into the bucket of my skull
Hah... it's a poor hierophant am I
That can divine things we already know
Catch glimpses of the people we are already
The breadth of the love that will live in our home
And see my own smile as you wheel me
Oh yes, it'll be you doing the wheeling...
Just a poem about something I saw, or didn’t see, or felt – maybe. In truth I spotted an empty bench outside the porch of a tidy cottage. A cat had been resting on said bench, glowing in the crisp Spring sunlight, at least until I changed gear and drove by slightly louder than I ought to have. But clear as day, I saw it, I saw it in my mind’s eye; forty or fifty years into the future.
We looked happy, you and I…
I used to think home was a place, and part of me still does, but the older I get, the older I’ve become… I now know it to be a person. In any case, if you end up going before me, just know I won’t be far behind; in-fact, I’ll be going into the non-GMO, bio-degradable, seed-spreading coffin (or whatever method people are planted by in fifty-years time) with you!
Auf Wiedersehen.
AJ Carney 