One Word Among Many
When last you were peering into my life (there’s a word for that, in the poet’s circle. It’s called a “Lyrical” poem. A personal narrative and no, it doesn’t *have* to rhyme and yes, I’m touchy and defensive about only rhyming makes it ‘real’. Where was I? I’d smashed my knees (they’re slow to forgive me), remember? So I was lounging in my comfy chair, stopped reading, rubbing hard on my right foot, wincing and grimacing, and Doug looks over from the couch to hear me say, “This is very _____” and I pause, searching for the word as he says, at exactly the moment I retrieve it, ‘Disconcerting.” I practically leap out of my skin in shock and amazement. “*That’s* the word!!!*, I say. Of all words, infinite choices, how could we land on the same one? Not even a common word, not an every day utterance, yet we both felt like it was perfect, and so it was!
Even without knowing why my hurting foot should so confound me, he could discern my state from my expression! After years of being privy to my diatribes, he could guess, for me, the word I couldn’t conjure. I’ve said to Scotty, only partly joking, “If I ever lose my words, just take me out back and shoot me.” Doug’s grandfather had Alzheimer’s. A cruel disease, and deadly. I love words (I always thought that they could save me), but there are days I speak to no one (until Doug gets home, or friendly banter with a service person). I’m getting to be ok with that. There are places my words can travel that I can’t pass into. On the other side of death, I can still talk to my loves, but I can’t see them (I have no visual memory. It’s called something meaningless, ‘Lacking in imagination’, but that’s not it at all. I can’t see my Grandma’s face but I can feel her presence). Words, I’ve said before but still believe it’s true, are messengers. Arrows searching for a mark. Boats to row a sorrowing soul to shore. To anchor, before it drifts away.
LBM 11/12/2019
