When we return, a year older, hair grayer, skin thinner
the rocks remain as they were, as they are,
aging imperceptibly. Likewise the pine trees,
the grass, the dandelions and the assorted creeping weeds
assert their presence as if they owned the earth they live on.
They do. Communities of cotton clouds populate the landscape of
a pale blue Maine sky. The lake below. The early morning fog. The sun.
The intermittent showers. The thrilling thunderstorms.
Ageless. That birch tree. Year after year its roots angle themselves
above the mud, a sturdy stool, three-legged guardian of water’s edge.
Now a single loon glides by, elegant in black and white. A queue
of ducklings, preschoolers on a wet field trip, paddles its way
to somewhere, chaperones behind and aft. Above, the raucous braying
of a fraternity of crows. All as it should be.
Another birthday. Would these ancient eyes still recognize
the Bronx-born street-smart lemme-outa-here five year old
escaping home for kindergarten, that brick jailhouse of possibility?
“Don’t get ‘cited, lady I’ll find it myself,” she shouted, bolting
from the crowd of children gripping their anxious moms, bounding
up the steel staircase. School! At last!
And here I am. Old.
Over-educated. Far and so thankful to have exited the housing project life,
the steam pipe secrets, the gangs, the subway lullabies, the drug deals,
the petty rules - no pets, no stepping on the grass - here I am,
neighbor of trees and turkeys, raccoons and rabbits. Nevertheless,
am I not that kindergartener? Is that lake not that lake still?
“Don’t get ‘cited, lady, I’ll find it myself.” I turn 80. 81. 84; 85....
The rocks remain, aging imperceptibly. The birches, the loons…
My children, their children’s someday grandchildren….Little future girl,
here by the changeless lake, I bequeath you that kindergarten spirit.
This forever home. This lake. This moon.
This rock. This tree. This crow.
Marian Kaplun Shapiro, a past contributor, is now 87 years old, and a practicing psychologist in Lexington, Mass. (USA). She is the author of a professional book, and five books of poetry. A five-time Senior Poet Laureate of Massachusetts, she has been twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Upbringing, her latest collection of graphic poems, was published by Plain View in January, 2023.
A version of this poem was published with Waxing and Waning, in 2022.
Banner photo by W.carter own work, Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International license.
