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MEMORY AT SIXTY-FIVE

 

I’m having a

conversation with

someone when my 

brain goes AWOL

and a name or word -- 

think Johnny Mathis,

labyrinth, waxy begonia.

bank password - becomes

deeply submerged

and can’t be retrieved

until three to five hours

later, when what was

missing pops up

through the seaweed,

into another time

and space.

VOW

 

I WILL

 

not 

apologize

 

for

being old.

TAKING FLIGHT

 

Weigh-in at airport.

Computer bag 6 pounds.

Suitcase 20 with souvenir fudge

from Martha’s Vineyard. And me,

grateful to Weight Watchers.

 

Computer bag stored in left wing

of small plane, suitcase in nose.

The pilot welcomes:

“2 steps up. Bend your head.”

 

We are 6 men,

2 women.

I’m the oldest. A first-timer.

Anxious.

 

It’s a sunny morning

to be hanging around the sky

and the takeoff is gentle.

I feel lucky.

 

There is no talking for this

one-hour, 10-minute trip. Each

of us folded into ourselves.

The cabin is warm, cozy.

 

I close my eyes. Clasp hands

in lap. Slow my breathing.

The minutes move.

Easy down. We land.

 

Relieved. Grinning.

I applaud. One of the guys

takes my photo. I walk

away proud, still eager

to have an adventure.

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