Will being old feel like a dream. Will my mouth chew my lunch slow and cautious. Feel the bread from my sandwich distant on my tongue. And will i mind
Cuz i was struck yesterday walking. About how we treat a body when it dies. How we have to lift it on out of the house. How the life becomes a symbol in the hearts of those still beating but the body is worthless to anyone.
So i watch them lift him out of his bed and bring up on the stretcher down the two mini flights of stairs and outside and into that van and the doors shut. And it drives off to the valley, another vehicle in traffic on the 101 heading south
How i drove the other direction 6 months later still full of life in my body, north. We climb north while alive, we fade south for death.
How he, whittled to skin and bones, brushed his teeth the day before he went. Like he was going to need them where he was going. Maybe he was going north
