TURNING 77
by William Thomas
Poetry
Congratulations on your 77th.
Thank you.
How do you feel?
Old.
Not much time left, eh?
I don’t like to think about it.
Don’t you want to get ready?
For what?
For whatever comes next.
What if nothing comes next?
What if something does?
Either way, it’s out of my hands.
Really?
Sure. Either I enter darkness forever…
Or?
How do I know? I’ve never been dead before.
Or you can’t remember.
Can’t remember what?
Angelic choirs. Dazzling light. Golden streets.
Oh, please.
I know.
Anything else?
Don’t you want to prepare, just in case?
In case there’s something more?
Yes.
No.
Why not?
What do you think happens after… you know.
What is unknowable cannot be spoken of.
If Lao Tse was right, what’s to prepare?
Serengeti storytellers spoke of ghosts…
Because we’re afraid it’s lights out forever.
Yes.
That this is all there is. Instead of another beginning.
Which is why we fabricate happy endings…
Or an excruciating eternity, if we’re bad.
You’ve read that comic book, too.
It wasn’t very convincing.
So you do think about your death.
Every day.
You enjoy being maudlin?
My pending death constantly informs my life.
You’re happier thinking about your demise?
Much happier.
Why?
Because I’m no longer afraid.
Of dying?
Of living
Photo Credit
Cloud Fountain At Daybreak -Will Thomas photo