Saturday, January 20, 2024
Thursday, January 18, 2024
difficult calls
She unplugs her phone repeatedly
Disconnecting the landline jack
Alone in her solitary memory care room
Wanting no contact with unknown callers
The staff regularly plug it back in
So she tried disassembling the phone
But the weekly phone call visit still happens
Despite her angry objections
My sister keeps making the difficult calls
Hoping for a rare good day
To be recognized as her loving daughter
But mostly receiving rejection
How upsetting for both of them
To be trapped in the disconnect
Talking to an unfamiliar person
Unhappy with unwanted attention
Finding herself isolated among strangers
Dismayed that they purport to know her
Asking for contact only through letters
To escape the frustrating interactions
The last time I saw her she knew me
Glad that I came with my daughter
To take a few things being passed on
To prepare to move to assisted living
Our chance to connect saying goodbye
And I gave her a book that I hoped might help
The story of Someone I Used To Know
As if anyone can handle losing yourself
Wednesday, January 17, 2024
the roofers
Watching silhouettes against a darkening sky
Long past sunset workers still up on the sloped roof
Seen as we walk past on the street below
With the car headlights already on
None of them have safety harnesses
And still they rush to get more done
When one misstep means sudden death
Tired at the end of a very long day
They are replacing the tiles on the roof
Damaged by the last hurricane here
Doing every building in the complex
A large crew we see every day
Starting very early and working quite late
With a half hour break after five hours
To eat and rest before five or six hours more
Getting up to do it again six days a week
Moving quickly nonstop working together
Bending lifting carrying climbing hour after hour
Sometimes running across the roof fearlessly
We look on them with respect and concern
Admiring their good humor hearing them laugh
Having fun however they can it seems to me
Hearing the nail gun staccato like playing a drum
But I see them lie down exhausted at lunch
They are immigrants doing the hardest work
Arriving here not knowing the language
Consigned to manual labor and low pay
Who deserve our thanks and a better life
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