Being Wise Thirteen

 My neighbors back in 1998-9    Demetrius with his father Kenny and his mother Sissy.

Being Wise Thirteen May 2, 2021

Here is this time when I begin 

to feel my age. I’m not getting

stronger but weaker. My doctor

wants me to exercise more, but

I’m not doing it yet. I want to

stay strong, get stronger, stop

losing weight, but I’m finding

that hard to do. I manage my

few chores, my short walks,

my irregular sleep patterns. 

I have a few pains in my 

right foot, in my left shoulder.

I receive interesting emails

and letters. People love me.

My neighbor Harold tells

me I’m an icon in our

neighborhood. He was the

first one to welcome me

in the summer of 1998. I

came to a meeting about the

low-level nuclear dump

planned for Moncure. We

stopped it. Now they want

to do another one. Harold

hugged me those twenty-three

years ago. The child next door,

three years old, Demetrius,

also hugged me–what he could

reach–my legs–and died ten

years later in a car crash. I’m

known more now than ever

before, my name in the paper,

pictures of my books. And we

defeated the coal ash dumping,

though seven million tons of it

is left for us forever. You do

what you can. You hope it’s

enough. There are still things

you can do. Be thankful.