I have had some long days and short nights the past couple of weeks, but we are moved! Here is my poem about all of that I wrote for the last Pine Island Poetry group:
A Week’s Lifetime
I. I’ve slept in my bed in this house the last Sunday of my life. The scent of long-past passion still lingers in my nose. The waterbed gave way to a California mattress. The headboard frame with the drawers underneath replaced by a rich Cherry poster bed that stands tall enough I can store the massage table underneath.
II. This is the last Monday morning I will wake up in this house. Approximately 83,216 Monday mornings I’ve sat here looking east. Thousands of times I’ve watched the shadows grow long, had the sun in my eyes, and marveled at the rain pelting the window.
III. More than two decades of pulling out of the driveway on Tuesday mornings heading to Still Waters. Sitting in the grapevine rocking chair in front of the sliding glass door looking at the majestic oak tree. Remembering that day I realized one of the women in the library was someone I had carried a deep grudge against, Forgiveness was unnecessary as the truth of how perfectly her role orchestrated divine will in my life set my heart free.
IV. Working in Kalamazoo on Wednesdays, traveling enough to always keep my makeup bag packed, finding it easier to live out of my overnight bag than to realize some culturally-demanded essential was where I wasn’t. Years of driving into the sun on the way over Wednesday mornings and driving into the sun on the way back Thursday evenings.
V. So many trips to Tennessee, watching grandkids grow up, remembering moments and milestones and many miles. We always left on Thursdays. Brad is married now, almost a year. Adam is a firefighter. My thoughts were also of Adam as I watched the first responders last Friday morning trying desperately to give my new neighbor one more day or week or month or year. Quite forgetful, she would introduce herself to me every time I stopped in at the new house. “I’m Katey,’ she would say, “I’ve lived here 33 years. It’s the best place I’ve ever lived. You’re going to love it here….” Adam arrived the day we moved in. Granddaughter, Courtney, will be here on Friday.
VI. Friday night used to be date night. We would have the house all to ourselves. We’d make love in front of the fireplace, dozing off afterwards. I remember once having an ear print on the inside of my thigh. The nostalgia of leaving this house is not just about brick and mortar or years gone by. Moving makes us remember what really matters. We buried Spanky here. So many times I felt the weight of that cat on my chest long after his ashes were way out back.
VII. Saturday morning Jehovah’s Witness visits, regular until the day John said, “Oh, yes, we are believers. My wife is an interfaith minister….” It’s funny how ritualistic our lives can become. Weeks and years and decades look so much like their predecessors, yet nothing truly remains the same. Next Monday morning I will wake up in my same bed, between my favorite bamboo sheets, having listened to 2002 Land of Forever. While my bed won’t be at 4230 Lincoln, part of my history will be.
VIII. It’s a new beginning at 1153 West Glenlord Road, Lot 84…
Debra Basham 7/24/17 (WC 544)
This week I held baby Iris for the first time, stained and varnished a desktop, made my first risotto, and it absolutely amazes me that I can feel right at home somewhere other than where I felt right at home for the past 40 years. I trust that means this is the next right step….
