Being Wise Fifty-Six

 Mikhail Bazankov, leader of the Kostroma Writers Organization

Being Wise Fifty-Six February 27, 2022

Another midnight breakfast, but

then I did sleep until six. I cut a piece

of the bread I made yesterday,

heated tea. The crust is s tough,

but the inside is okay. I didn’t

think anything would keep me

awake, but something did. A

piece of bread and butter with

tea puts me back to sleep. Tim

used superglue to hold the cheese

in the trap and caught a mouse.

Another one was trying to free it.

It’s our new game: catch the mice.

They’re ahead and prolific.

But we have superglue.

Being Wise Fifty-Five

     Yuri Lebedev in his dacha garden

Being Wise Fifty-Five February 20, 2022

I dreamt I was falling. I was awake and then suddenly

asleep and falling. My arms went out to catch myself.

I was awake and lying flat. I pushed the covers off

and put on my shoes. Orange light behind the curtains.

It was after eight. I heated tea, added honey. Hot, sweet

tea helps me stay awake and warm enough. I wanted

to remember my archetype: Healer, yes. Shakespeare’s

sister–that appeal for my words to touch the lives of

other people. A beloved partnership. Yes, I had/have

my loved man. Then mastery. Elusive but finally

captured in Kostroma, my Russian city. Yuri found

it among my words. How lucky I’ve been and am.

I won’t fall. I’m grounded now.

Being Wise Fifty-Four

Judy and Sheila Crump after a Gospel Sing in Moncure, part of our fight against coal ash dumping in our community a few years ago.

Being Wise Fifty-Four February 13, 2022

Orange light through the curtain

means time to get up. Another day,

another poem. Full daylight. I put

my shoes on, retrieve my library

book, toast bread, heat tea, turn off

some lights, turn on others. No one

told me I’d be given so much love

in my eighties. I’m grateful–or joy

from books I’ve read before. The days

pass slowly, inevitably, one after

another. I’m not forgotten. Painful

moments come and go. Then vanish.

They weren’t that important. I let them

go, think of friends far away. I’m okay.

I hope they’re okay, too.

Being Wise Fifty-Three

                Judy signing Dean's book at a book party.  

Being Wise Fifty-three February 6, 2022

Friends return. One to ask how I am.

One to buy a book, which I sign for

her. My students laugh with me and

accept my bossiness. All these things,

which I’ve had before, are more precious

now. I’m valued. We can laugh at our

foibles. I tell the story of my latest fall.

I landed on my bottom, and recovered

quickly. Tim untangled me from my

walker and pulled me up. We laughed.

And one of my helpers, whom i thought

wouldn’t return, came back, and we

worked on my books again. I forgot

how some things are constant. They’re

part of you. They don’t disappear. If

things are good, they stay and stay.