The Return

Poetry again
because of trees

Willa and Rose Together

WILLA, a gently elegant woman in her late 80s, whose smile makes everyone feel like a beloved child

ROSE, a slightly confused woman in her early 90s, who looks like a Muppet with a large smile and big blue eyes. She has on a sweater with a large bluebird on it to which she bears a striking resemblance.

DAY, INT.

Looking into an elevator. A sign next to the elevator reads “Cheery Skies Retirement Community.” Inside the elevator, Willa is standing patiently behind Rose's wheelchair, her hands delicately but firmly wrapped around the push handles. Rose is sitting like an aged Buddha in her chair, eyes fixed upon the middle distance.

The elevator door slides quietly into place. The women stand quietly until the elevator opens at the third floor. Willa pushes the wheelchair out of the car.

W: Rose, where is your room?

R: It is room 307.

Willa pushes Rose towards her room.

As they move along the hall -

R: [quietly, decidedly, almost seeming to talk to herself] First the pillar, go around the pillar. Yes. Now down this way. Past Eileen's room. Yes. Now past Marie's. Yes. Here we are.

At the door of Rose's suite.

Rose smiles broadly with her lips together and wrinkles at the corner of her eyes. Tiny beads of sweat are forming at her hairline. Rose is also smiling.

Willa comes around the side of the wheelchair and opens the heavy door to Rose's suite. The corridor is silent and empty.

Willa begins to pull Rose out of her chair. Some physical confusion arises.

Willa leans forward, working at moving the foot pads of the chair up so Rose can move forward and out. Willa is also trying to hold Rose up, and keep the door open. Willa's 88 year old back shakily is bridging the distance between these activities.

R: [reassuringly, speaking slowly and steadily] Yes. I'm getting out of the chair. Yes. I'm out. I have my cane right here. You have me. I'm standing. Yes. Out of the chair!

The two women are standing, shakily, smiling at each other, holding each others hands, both breathing a little more deeply. Rose is steadying herself and Willa is catching her breath.

The journey towards the recliner begins. Willa shifts around to take Rose by the arm, and Rose presses her cane onto the floor and leans on it a little. Taking careful steps, the women navigate Rose's suite.

[The following conversation takes place in slow, measured, decided tones.]

R: Into the suite. Yes.

W: To the easy chair?

R: Yes. The easy chair, that's where we're going.

W: It's right there.

R: Yes it is. That's where we want to be!

W: A easy chair is a good place to be going to!

A few more paces and Rose is safely down in the wide blue chair. She is surrounded by the objects of sitting life, her Jumble puzzles, magnifying glass, TUMs, TV remote, hand lotion and other particulars. Willa stands back and smiles beatifically.

W: My name is Willa.

R: My name is Rose.

W: Willa and Rose. Two good, short names. Two simple names.

R: Yes.

W: That was a struggle. I didn't think I would make it!

R: It was a struggle, yes – and we made it!

W: We did!

R: I'm very comfortable now.

W: Good [still a little breathless]

R: Would you like to sit?

W: No, but thank you. I'll head back to my room now. Have a good day, Rose.

R: Oh, yes, you too, Willa, have a good day!

Willa exits.

R:Yes. It is a good day. Yes.

END

Ecologies everywhere

There is no such thing as an object.

a possible cure for agoraphobia

I find myself always moving forward
today my sankalpa is
"I am never going anywhere"
for suffering in the body is forward movement
bliss in the body is stillness

when my mind moves me forward
i stop to watch my mind moving
and we cease

we are never going anywhere

i watch the folds of a brown table cloth
with a paisley pattern
listen to crickets and thunder and the hum of the fan
feel my back hurt, my stomach tighen in breathing

only this

sunday morning

snow blowing
every which way
morning blue white sky

in a sleepy city
a crow is awake

why am i inside
still?

the purpose-driven life

up and downs
tightenings and releasings
drifting
trying to find my meaning
my purpose in life
all i want is to empty out
and experience
i can't find a purpose in that

the left side of my brain
churning and working
desperately pleaing
earnestly searching
trying to solve existential problems with
practical solutions
turning away in disgust
reaching again
takes my body along for the ride
i'm bumping into things and
hurting myself

now
in the quiet cemetery
after a half hour's stillness
long deciduous needles dancing in the wind
blue snow
the sound of wind, far away
and close
and moments of spring smell
in january

walking
i look down onto the white snow
and see hundreds of crow tracks
mingled with little narrow golden leaves
a pattern so wild and multiple
i can feel my left brain release
into the emptiness of being

delight, peace and joy
profound relief
an awesome mystery
a spiritual magic

"it's just brain chemistry!" says my brain
"nothing special"
and i see it as poetry
and always will
and always will want to

i am a poet
that is what i am

even if i never write a word
even if i find no meaning in the title
even if i still have drifting days
and little to show for myself
at the hour of my death.