poetry by John Scott Ridgway
Mary Ann has eight decades of memories
she falls back into them and drifts off
tells stories of the thirties on Chicago's
German Southside
says over and over, 'it's all gone now.'
she's seen a lot of worlds emerge
& dissolve away
the people kept coming and coming
crowded the cities
then the fields
then the woods were replaced with surburbia
she's bewildered by computers
too slow for revolving doors
afraid of steps
she talks of heaven
I hold my atheist toungue
tell myself there are places
where words are meaningless
let her drift out
on the hormone-release of prayer
her last years
unencumbered by the cold heart of knowledge
death takes almost everyone she's known
the actors from posters on her teen walls
the young and beautiful 'new next things'
now fallen back down into the earth
their faces ravaged by the minute free radicals
the unseen forces forever tearing away
at their moment in the spotlight
she's survived a husband
floods
surgeries
kids
poverty
she remembers thousands and thousands of nights of worry
she senses death all through her body
she can feel the decay in her weakening legs
uses a walker and cane to manuever her brittle bones
says she won't be around long
we tell her no and never and how we won't let it happen
as we quietly prepare for her last moments
making sure there is money for her last show
the funeral director tries to content us
with the thought
that she will rest
on expensive satin
in an ornate box
The looming reaper will descend
no matter how many prayers or curses
or beliefs or not
her flesh will fall and be still
she'll become a reverbertion
in her children's every gesture and love
her son will babble to cosmic forces
immerse himself in hippy named water
stare at lights from some cosmic disco ball
I will hold her godless daughter
as she weeps
the mourners will tell us she is in heaven
and we'll smile and nod
because she would want us to