Shrinking inside my skin, I kept on
yapping
about the glory of the morning light,
the intense colors emerging
from the gray of clouds; the
glowing green trees on my balcony,
almost as if they had been dipped
in liquid gold. And the hibiscus–
a scarlet shock imprinted on my retinae.
Even sillier, I was haltingly saying
all this in Spanish to my teacher,
much younger than I, who surely
saw the similarity of my speech
to that of a toddler.
Apologizing, I told her
that in my old age, the smallest things
seem to me the most important.
But then
she agreed, and as reflection
overtook me, I experienced a
second shock, that the big things
were really only chimerae,
here with no bodies,
gone with no footprint,
mere mentation.
And the things I often don’t notice–
light, sound, sight, taste, breath,
color, gravity, air, wind, food,
friends, smiles, hellos,
my faith in my continued existence
beyond this moment, even my memory–
are so vital compared to paychecks, jobs,
bank accounts, titles, clothes, news,
urgent appointments, elections, that I wonder
how they can absorb most of me.
Surely I must have lost the wisdom
somewhere that I brought in with my birth, and
am only now as an elder re-discovering it.
At least it wasn’t gone forever with my infancy.