(1969-2023)
I am a hoarder of survival skills
Ruminating on catastrophes
I suck on them slowly like a hard candy
Rub them in my pocket like a worry stone
Methodically move through them like the beads on a Rosary
I savor their smells
And sip on them in a goblet like fine wine
I hide them in my jacket pockets
And clutch them in my fists
Like a student holds a tiny high school cheat sheet
A toddler’s shiny, tangled found object
One that only they can love and innately understand
(2023)
Slowly I place the innumerable coveted nuggets
Into clear, sorted and labeled boxes
So I can walk by them, and brush my hands across their velvety fronts
I can view them
But talisman are no longer needed
So I will let the dust collect
Knowing they are still there if necessary
And over time they will lose their power
And if not properly disposed of
They will be another item for my children to sort through when I am gone
(Post 2023)
There will be no sealing of them into steal drums, buried in the desert
Where they can seep into the soil
No dumping them into space
No burning them in an incinerator
Poisoning the future
No storing them in a vault full of incoherent objects
No placing them into a trunk for an inheritor to deal with
Meaningless, burdensome artifacts
Left in the abandoned fortress with no connection to the past
And yet tethered so that they cannot move away from the tangled ball of silk thread
Instead I will untangle, dissolve, transform and transmute the pain and fear
That came before and during me
The tangled ball of silk thread
I will unravel it into a single golden line to their past and future
The shards of fear I will turn into a golden dust that can be formed into anything my futures desire
The aloneness I will fill into a swirling cloud of beauty
I will be everywhere for them
And they will never be alone or in terror again
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