What's Your Favorite Subject?

I had the wonderful opportunity to work with a high school senior creative writing class a bit over a week ago. (It was the day after Yom Kippur. I had read some of my poems at the memorial service that day.) The students and I talked about how I became a poet, I read some of my work that is in print and some in process. At one point, a young woman asked what my favorite subjects are.

In response, I read the first few lines of a poem I am working on:

Marian cries in the back of the room
As I read my poems aloud.
They’re all about cancer, getting old, death.

And I said:
• I’m 65
• I get wine from California that says not to drink it for at least 15 years
• I have dogs that are seven and nine and wonder if I will ever have another dog
• Of the 42 boys who graduated in my class, three of us have died
• Some good friends near my age have died
• Both of my parents are gone
• I was operated on for cancer when I was 60

So, not being morbid, it’s just the stage of life I am in. It gives one pause. I do write about other areas. Some of my stuff is funny (even some poems about cancer, aging, and death). But there is no getting away from the idea of change.

Two days later, I read at the debut of an anthology, New Harvest, where I have one poem, “Escape Hatch.” It’s in the prologue to my book, Roots and Paths, and talks about why I write. Interesting tie to the question asked in the class.

And this past week, my dear mother in law went into the hospital with some heart problems. She is 91. Her poem to me about living in the present and enjoying each day (also in the prologue mentioned above) prompted my response poem. I met her when I was 18. So far, it’s been 47 years. So near is all of this to those who hold her dear. I had almost 46 years with my father and had a bit over 52 with my mother. So, while I think/write about other stuff, it all seems to come back to this.

The Raspberries of October

One of the wonders of this October in St. Louis with its too-hot-for-autumn weather is the raspberries that continue to grow on my plants. I go out each evening when I am returning from feeding the horses and dogs and collect a handful of dark, ripe berries that adorn and enhance my morning's cereal the next morning.

Clods of Dirt

We went to the funeral of a friend's father today. In the entry hall of the synagogue are pictures of their past rabbis. One of them is my great grandfather (who died when my Mom was only two or so). The strange thing is that I have known all the rabbis of that congregation since my great grandfather, known them well, even though it's not the congregation we belonged to when I grew up or now. A strange link to my past that I only experience at life-cycle events there.

We then went to the cemetery and participated in the mitzvah of helping to cover our friend's father's coffin with dirt, to fill in one hole while another one remains open forever.

Sixty Five and Awe

In five days, I am going to be 65. Tonight is erev Rosh Hashanah and begins the Days of Awe. It's a time for teshuvah, connecting, being on the journey. It's a time when the gates are open. It's a time where it's decided who will live and who will die.

So, smack dab in the middle of all this, I am going to be 65. Yeh, there's Medicare Parts A and B. Yeh, there's Social Security benefits in six months. But becoming 65, an official old guy geezer, right in the middle of the Days of Awe?

The moon knew when I was born this would happen.

There's a poem about this somewhere. I'll cogitate a bit and see where this all takes me.

Maybe I will know more in five days.
Maybe I'll know more by Yom Kippur.
Maybe I won't.