The Aged Ones
We are the aged ones,
The last ones living off inheritances,
Consuming,
Consuming,
Nothing much left for the next generation,
Crumbling infrastructures,
Decaying,
Decaying.
We mutely observe the passing of an age,
Greedily outliving all expectations.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
A Little Space
A little space
Is all I need
To sit and rest
And plant a seed,
To someday root
To someday grow
So when I’m old
I’ll someday know.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Broken
The impossible holds me in tight embrace,
No longer a harmless dream.
What was tranquil,
Predictable,
Is all jagged edges,
Without form,
Without logic.
Now,
All my answers have turned into questions,
And all my questions are in a language
I no longer understand.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Here With Me
I remember my grandfather’s decline,
His slow but steady decline,
This honorable, moral man,
A role model,
Still.
During my younger years he often called me,
As if trying to rebalance our relationship,
Having favored my older sister,
My more compliant,
Less troubled sister.
When my grandmother died,
On our way to the cemetery
He told me they both agreed she should go first,
A pact without the power of choice,
Silently resolved to meet again somehow.
Episodes of confusion crept into his daily life.
His daughter hired a caregiver
To do the things that became too hard,
This once rigorous man losing his rigor,
His self-reliance.
An assortment of medications
Causing angry outbursts of unmoored emotions,
Personality changes.
Demons gaining ground
On the weary angels of his being.
And here I sit with my morning coffee
Wearing my grandfather’s robe,
Wondering how many days I have left.
I hear the tik-toking of his Regulator clock
Counting down.
Grandfather is here with me this morning,
Telling me about his boyhood on the farm,
The lamb he brought into his bedroom
To shield it from the storm.
Soon, he finally answers. Soon.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
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