Monday, April 19, 2010

I've considered working at a home,

you know, filled with elderly, geriatric
men and women in faded clothes
and wrinkled skin with walkers with
tennis balls stuck on the legs,
because I love meeting people with
stories to tell and listening to stories
without really committing much of
myself to the narrative, not telling any
more about myself than the bare
minimum of what needs to be known

but then I realize that I can't deal
with death, which is inevitable, even
when people say it won't happen for
a while, but growing attached to someone
living at the home and having them
pass away might be too much for me
because all my relationships are based
around the fact that no one, no one
I have any personal attachment to,
has died, which is not to say that
they've never ended because, let's
face it, people change and friendships
end, but no one has died and when it
does eventually happen, I see myself
being stunted, emotionless, hiding
behind that same stupid smile,

and maybe that's the most scary thing,
not being able to show how much I
care about someone once they've
passed from the physical plane, this
silly place where we grab onto each
others' hands and stamp our feet in
the dirt and watch sunsets and walk
with little tennis balls on the legs
and meet stories with people to
tell just so I don't have to commit
myself to the narrative.

1 comment:

mooseinmyshoe said...

Smiles are never stupid. I don't care what anyone says.