Zen, In Her Old Age... Poem by John Tansey

Zen, In Her Old Age

For Mary

She gets up in the morning, like the sun, itself,
Her chores are many, her routine, the same.
When she washes in the basin, she cares only for herself,
But the dogs go first, chasing birds,
As if to say, go away, we heard you, we are awake.

She puts on the coffee, though she has not drunk it in years.

She says hello to the neighbors, even when busy with others.
She phones to wake her daughter every
morning, though she is already awake, awaiting her call.
She checks in on her friends,
"They are getting to old to look after themselves", she says.

Arguing for the best price, she always thanks the saleslady twice.

Her eyes are a smile; Her mouth is a wink,
Her whole face is a revelation of what God most certainly thinks.
She has been intimate with heartbreak,
But has not spoken with happiness for years.
Her bedroom is filled with lace, picture framed portraits,

Afghans and the old, child school work from her daughters.

When day slips into dusk,
She slips into her robe, and relaxes
She turns on a lamplight as the sunsets and evening settles in next to her.
There is more ritual in evening than in day.
The subtle actions that praise the delineations of the day;

She watches a little too much T.V, but it's only on when she sleeps.

Alone with her memories. A family gathering
Of ghosts that get larger every year.
She seems hard, but it is this tough love
That attends more funerals than socials
However she can be overcome with melancholy

But even in tears, she is always a supreme lady.

She measures time by the season and life
By it's moments of misplaced tardy toe steps
laughing thru life. Her maternal wisdom is like the throne to a king
That has held mankind in her lap, forever.
From a pretty girl, tempting men throughout her youth,

To Now...Simply, Zen, in Her Old Age!