Sometimes,
when I am out on the trail,
pushing,
for no reason other than to see,
it feels like I’m not even the one
making the steps.
Like I am somewhere else
and my body
is under the control of some strange force.
I watch
as this vessel takes me somewhere
that has no meaning to me yet.
Why is my body doing this?
Why bother?
Why go up the mountain and why come back?
Where is this all going?
When do the steps end?
Who makes that decision?
My grandfather spent
over thirty years
in a lawn chair.
Not stepping.
Just smoking his cigar
and contemplating the scenes before him.
He once said that he was a
“has-been,”
even though there he was,
sitting right in front of me.
Until that moment I loved
every word that ever came out of his mouth.
We put the physical on a pedestal:
guys who can still conquer,
compete,
fly jet planes
or accomplish some incredible feat
beyond regular imagination.
But fingers will start to ache,
knees will buckle
and the back will bend.
I think Grandpa forgot,
in that moment,
that we sit so others can run.
That even from his chair,
he provided ballast
for the starlight he created,
back when his legs could carry him
to the places he didn’t know
would mean something.
And no, maybe he didn’t fly jets,
or climb mountains,
or sail to destinations unknown.
Those lucky enough
to live in that space
get to worry less when they do.
It’s when we’re sitting,
looking over the starlight,
making sure all will keep shining
long after we’ve left the chair,
that requires more of us.
That’s when it feels the heaviest.
And while days may come
when you feel no more
than a pawn on a board you can’t see,
you are, whether you like it or not,
a living breathing message from the universe.
A ripple through the firmament.
A chance brought forth by whatever name you want to call it.
The universe. God.
Random luck.
But whatever the manner,
an undeniable miracle
for the starlight yet to come.
— ❧ —
Poetry Corner
Ballast for the Starlight came from three different notions I had, and I realized they were all part of one larger story. The poem is about the continuation of the generations, searching for answers while providing a steady presence long after the days of our prime. It’s about accepting different versions of ourselves as we watch our love move off in different directions. Perhaps, our aging bodies are meant to slow us down so that the starlight we created knows how to easily find us when it needs us. If you like poetry, you can find more at In Verse.