death as...

with mother for a day or two
and what did i learn? –
that death is still the enemy.

in my mother's house. big with a lot of stuff. clothes, dresses and flowered prints that are shoved in a walk-in closet so crammed that you walk-on the fashions of past decades... the well worn and seldom worn strewn together mixing the years of cotton and polyester... kept and held precious because death is still the enemy...
we don't talk about the clothes or the heaps of dust and dirt laden remnants of accumulation that are behind all cupboard doors, piled in corners of used and unused rooms....
not talking about any of that - instead – slowly getting in and out of the car to go to the store and buy more cookies and chocolate.to eat while reading the newspaper... and instead – slowly walk up the stairs, past the walk-on closet to the bathroom where an arsenal of pills await to treat the various pieces of the body... treating the stomach as something apart from the rest of her... and of course - the pain killers... so to live another day without the ache in the back from the years of choosing to live in the chair... reading the paper, eating some cookies ... just finding comfort in believing life is just like that... the news, the food in the grocery store, the "them" and the "us", the flowered prints and dresses no longer worn – but kept ... you must keep it all ... to forget about that ... you know ... the enemy....

all the rest... comings and goings of ideas... a lot of popular ideas about Obama, about a recession, about India and China and other places that "experts" tell out about in the news – to formulate an opinion that is not "yours" ... rather – a kind of spoon feeding... because that is what my mother does... eating in that way... eating what family and culture has fed her... food, buying food, too much food and stores with other merchandise and the ideas...

but when you are ninety – you know – you MUST know that it will all soon vanish... that you will soon vanish...
which is why death is still the enemy.

a few days with my mother at her house – and we went shopping together – and then i went shopping alone.... because i have been looking at what people where... looking around at the jeans... the uniform of the culture... and i just don't feel like wearing that.

so i went to a second hand clothes store and some of the proceeds – after paying staff and rent and business expenses... goes to the salvation army... so for a few dollars i can dress in a dress... or a flowered print. saying to the world "HELLO" this is ME in this dress or flowered print. because it pleases me... because... it's a little different and colorful and not the jeans... hello, hello, i am unique.... because i dress in loud colors! ... shall i instead dress in jeans and black pull-over sweaters and walk in various kinds of sneakers or black shoes? death doesn't care.

so i shall wave to death in my flowered print blouse and death shall sway in the folds of my dress as i walk each step... and i shall keep some things for awhile ... and let go of other things... flowing into change... changing clothes and thoughts ... keeping it light. mulch a new garden, walking through the seasons – in my dress, or sneakers and black sweater...

and i wonder , if i am ever ninety – if my daughter will visit me in my house, if i have one and what will she see of my life in the corners of the rooms? will she see death as my enemy? or will she see death as my teacher?