Final Thoughts

Issue 14

I feel a permeating sadness like the corona of a moon,
Or a sun fading into another medium.
As grandchildren, tied to parents play
Run about and ride energetic waves, and spring hovers,
They pass me as if I were invisible,
While I am bursting into sharing things
They may remember when I’m gone,
Unlike grandma who seems
More likely to beget a memory, not a tenuous relic.
 
The tides of my life are blessed.
Spared from a tortuous heritage which survivors often choose to obscure.
Challenged by naysayers.
Determined to arise from every fall.
Self-made. Transformative. Crossing bridges and barriers.
Not too stocky to run marathons twice,
A tribute to my brother, a tribute to my wife.
 
Giving shrewd advice, inspiring completion, deferring credit to colleagues.
Shunning regret, I resolve unashamedly
To be guided by instinct.
Nearby extended family members make use of my presence.
 
My childhood dream of driving my own car remains a reality.
Uninterrupted I read, write, listen, welcome love.
 
I work out, cook and eat fish from the oceans where I once angled.
I did my best at work, helping others promote human welfare.
After too many tries, I found the love of my life
And we are self-supporting.
 
In my eighties
In good health, in good spirits,
I continue to defy the expectations of others, which for me
Are diminished by some
Who disregard me as quiet and likeable.
 
Laden with stories and observations,
I shape my choices
Do what I please.
My good fortune is like a storied Chanukah candle
A mystical symbol of a miraculous extension.
Death is
Not comprehensible

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Mel Einhorn is an octogenarian poet previously self-published two un-marketed unheralded poetry books. He won the American Academy of Poets Prize in college. He creates slice of life still life lyric poignant portrayals reflective of the beat era.

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