The Other Side

Over here, on the other side, where it's time to begin to close up, trim the wick of desire, and taper back, it is the little things that teach you where you are, that show you you are no longer what you thought you were, that you can no longer do what you used to do, no matter what you think you can. The cat, for instance. In the predawn darkness she finds a nest in your lap and settles in with her motor running. The earthly delight is palpable. You feel the preciousness because you are crossing a line into something different, something less full and certain than you knew before. You notice that your body is so heavy you can't lift your hand to scratch her ears. You feel like you have been stuffed. With lead. But you still rally to get your self girded for the work to come. You carry on in the inertia of the old ways, not having fully "decided" yet that you must adapt to getting old. You have not yet severed the ties to the hard slog of making a living and have commitments: grading, teaching, workshops. But the ambition has gone. You go through the motions, more than a little disinterested in the hustle to improve and get an edge. People find you boring and weird. Some want to walk on you. You are target now. Because you are soft, wrinkled, and plump, you make a pretty easy target. You pull back, notice that you are alone. You remember that you came in alone, that you are moving toward your exit, the one you will take alone and naked as the day you were born.The only company you can keep is that of others who know this secret. There in the lonely comfort of shared mortality, you rest as the shade comes down. You have to tell them. Have to tell yourself. You have crossed the line, like it or not.