So many years ago
Living on the edge of rationality
A razor thin line to be crossed
By fools and politicians
I stayed focused long enough
To realize I was dying
Not by a tumor in the brain
Like my father who died at sixty-two
Alone and forgotten
I hadn’t talked to him in years
Still unhealed from the abuse
Not by the slipping of the mind
Like my mother who died at sixty-eight
Still waiting for her curtain call at Radio City
I wonder where that old 78 is hiding
The only relic left of her talent
I still can’t speak our truth out loud
Not by some dreaded disease
Like my sister who died at forty-six
Cancerous invasion of the breasts
Followed by a chemo-cocktail
I kissed her cold dead lips
And cried without restraint
No, I was dying from self-inflicted wounds
Carving up of the soul
The last vestiges of my humanity
Laid waste by wanton addiction
Mea culpa of self-absorbed woe
One snowy winter
A moment in a parking lot
Among drifters, junkies and thieves
She walked over to me
An alchemist of love
I had no idea
A tattered life could be transmuted
The philosopher’s egg
Lead turned into gold
Here I am still breathing
No longer waiting for death
To finish his holiday
Although sometimes
I still look over my shoulder
Waiting to see the boney smile
And hear the hollow moaning of departure
Speak…
“Just kidding”
