There are confusing encounters, leaving one gasping
for breath, the mind grasping for understanding;
such is the nature of life and death—
the latter being more recent in my world of experience.

I eschew addictions, just as they are sought
to resolve what seems unfathomable to others,
and I know, in this life, I am meant to demonstrate
more understanding than my impatient inner child might conjure.
Still, it is the most natural direction in which to gravitate these days—
the world being as unknowable now as it was then,
and who am I to judge?

Thus when I see this precious being—once strong and vital,
now weak and yellow and skeletal,
and all this happening in the span of a year,
in a life too short to be terminal—
feelings arise, and more, and yet more questions
on the meaning of existence.

This time last year, we were wrangling
with thorny bushes that had become trees,
both cursing, he more ardently—
as this was not his first rodeo in these mountains—
and yet there was laughter, good humor,
companionship of then-strangers
taking the measure of the other’s character.

Loved ones gather now, and I feel not at all
out of place in this tiny trailer,
amidst people of a culture I don’t need to understand;
the old man’s body the main event in the living room,
surrounded by photos of the past—
and who could know, fifty years ago,
how fate would hold them now in its thrall?

Two weeks ago, he seemed empty of life,
yet his spirit still felt strong;
today that spirit had its due.
Jaundice had receded,
and flesh had mysteriously begun reassembling on his bones.
And once again I marvel
at the same sorts of questions I have asked all my life:
how does the journey begin to make sense
in the face of what we are dealt?

Bridge over troubled waters ~ bj 2023