Living with the Elephant
by Cynthia Bernard
Living with the Elephant
I guess the fog has little cat feet
sometimes, but around here
it dances with the wind,
wild and fierce,
especially at dawn.
Howling across the ocean, up the hill,
gusting my robe against me,
sloshing coffee into my face as I try for a sip.
I guess aging is gradual
sometimes, but around here
it’s a tempest, arising suddenly,
wild and fierce
and relentless.
Wrenching my days apart
into a before that can never be found
again — and a very different now.
I guess one could fight it
sometimes, hair color, face cream,
supplements and potions,
exercises, affirmations,
denial.
I guess one could simply accept it
sometimes, but around here
arthritis has swept in on elephant feet,
fierce and relentless,
and no pill, no potion,
no affirmation, no meditation,
can sweep it out again.
I guess one could handle things gracefully
and sometimes I do,
but around here there are other times, too,
when everything seems to hurt
and I want to stay under a quilt
for whatever part of forever
I get to see.
And then again, there are
yet other times, sometimes,
the majesty of the ocean at first light,
the sweetness of love found late,
my hand sliding into his.
New buds on the camellia,
rain on the roof, deer in the yard,
granddaughter’s smile,
or a nothing-special-time
in the exquisiteness of the now.
And I find that
sometimes, increasingly often,
I welcome it all:
the cat’s feet and the elephant,
things wild and fierce,
quiet moments and raging ones,
lines on my softening face,
creaky joints and aching bones,
wind in my hair,
full heart,
fog over the ocean at dawn.
(Originally published in Multiplicity Magazine, issue 4, Spring/Summer 2022)
