Saturday, January 3, 2009
To me you're not dying; you're very much alive. Sometimes I can feel you breathe. You never look up though, always so deep in thought. What is life all about? How do we know which way is right? Is there a right? Or is it important to just act? So many questions as I look at you. And then I hear Alison Luterman's poem, I Confess. I first read this poem on the wall of #15 bus. It remains in my memory a perfect moment.
by Alison Luterman
I stalked her in the grocery store:
her crown of snowy braids held in place by a great silver clip,
her erect bearing, radiating tenderness,
the way she placed yogurt and avocados in her basket,
beaming peace like the North Star.
I wanted to ask, "What aisle did you find your serenity in,
do you know how to be married for 50 years or how to live alone,
excuse me for interrupting, but you seem to possess
some knowledge that makes the earth burn and turn on its axis"
but we don't request such things from strangers nowadays.
So I said, "I love your hair."