I don’t want to believe that we are imprinted
like the ducks. There is a rumor
that even DNA can change.
I want to take that rumor to heart and let it sit there,
for awhile, and speak to me. What is it saying?
Then I look down at my feet–toes bent, flat feet, arthritis,
weak ankles. What is it saying?
That this life has not been an easy walk for me
or does it mean that I am like my mother’s family
and that, for all my bellyaching and self discovery, I had no choice.
Is that the death sentence? Who’s meaning do we choose,
I wonder at, all of us sharing, so many layers of intolerance.
Why we do not have one clear moment of voices raised in silence
that rakes away all this till………..we all wake up,
scratch our heads,
and go wait a minute.
It seems that simple to me. I beg for one lucid moment
with my father, and it comes. And then he wonders off
into the same patter of thought and mind leading him to a place
where I’d like to shout to him, “Turn left, pass go. No,
You don’t want to go there” or does he—self punishment, self imprisonment
making its final debut. What is dementia anyway? Have we all succumb to it?
Maybe, we are like onions. Peeling back the layers,
you come to emptiness, and that scares us–
like cavemen looking at fire. Maybe, we will withstand all layers
of loss, of death, of disengagement and deceit that blanket us
rather than to see that truth. And, maybe–like caveman–
we still do not understand the emptiness inside the fire,
the fire inside the emptiness.