What gift has these residuals brought
to me except pain, frustration,
what might have-beens?
Yet, wait, I remind myself
Before, an icy day on a Minnesota
What did I want what dreams to fulfill?
What people were really important to my life?
A few of then-loved, more precious now,
are still in my life and others,
others who I never might have known
never taken time to see beneath façade
In those far –off days when I was always running
from job, to classes,
thoughts racing fast as an Indy 500,
When did I find time to steal an hour where I could sit and write?
Now a bookshelf holds many publications
ninety percent written since my fall, mind already clouded
when I took advantage of an empty hour
to scribble on a yellow pad or
a computer when icons make some sense
First. words came slowly but now
sometimes erupt in volumes
and time is what I have to write them
I have learned to listen better
To re-read old favorite books
only remembering their delight
To sit and not feel guilty just to
mindlessly watch a sunset or a sunrise
an orange cat or two on lap
When sleep won’t come
I will not chide myself for watching
inanities on TV, reruns, or CNN for hours
I know that the news, even bad reports,
stick most easily when repeated
over and over in my ear.
Sometimes I can pretend that nothing’s wrong
That I am still a person who threatens everyone
At “Trivial Pursuit” or “Jeopardy”,
I can fake it
as long as questions don’t speak of last year’s news
or ask me what I had for breakfast.