I recently wrote a piece about aging too. I visit my mother in her apartment building every weekend and I see others there, just hanging out in the lobby alone. She says they never get guests and that many of her neighbors are jealous of her consistent visitors. It made me sad to think about all the stories sitting in silence. I’ll post it in honor of this poem and its message

Well, we’ve gotten here, you and I, and now our elbows wobble. (and all that other stuff) But doesn’t it beat the alternative? Maybe a little Neil Young is called for:

Old man lying by the side of the road
With the lorries rolling by
Blue moon sinking from the weight of the load
And the buildings scrape the sky
Cold wind ripping down the alley at dawn
And the morning paper flies
Dead man lying by the side of the road
With the daylight in his eyes
Don’t let it bring you down
It’s only castles burning
Find someone who’s turning
And you will come around

Well, Neil Young isn’t my favorite (it”s the voice), but he’s a hell of a writer, so I’ll take this with a big thank you, my friend. And a big Ho, Ho, Ho, too!

This one walks like a wounded animal—slow, deliberate, and not asking for pity.
That rain in the closet and reflection lying flat? That’s grief stripped of metaphor and still standing there, breathing.