Two Types of Human Species; Guilty of letting go

Transitions №7

Author: Michaela Simoni

Two Types of Human Species

Plane Passengers, Nursing Home patients
Two species mirroring each other.
Money buys more freedom:
To move, stretch, place one’s handbag.
Both species on reclining seat
Both with blankets covering the lap.
Close to others
In other’ personal space but separate.
No conversation.
They are in a capsule.
Devoid of air, sun and reality
Served lukewarm tea.

Brought on trolley
by smiling women in uniform
on to trays across them
Imprisoning them.
Waiting for them to be removed.
Both watch screens to waste time.
Nod off, wake and nod off once more.
The greatest goal is an awkward walk
To the toilet.

Both groups are travelling closer to God
Nearly touching the clouds or
The end of a tourist trip of life.
In trepidation of destination.
Missing the home or the people left behind.
Thinking of things not completed
Holding a small bag of personal items and ID
Fossilised, powerless, waiting.

Guilty of letting go

I feel guilty
For letting go.
First there was plenty of autumn sunlight.
Golden sunlight splashed across the lawn
And courtyard.
Then it started retreating slipping up wards
Through the fingers of trees,

It was the type of golden light
That one remembers,
Putting the baby out in the bassinet
With its bottom to air.
The type of day that people in nursing homes
Are wheeled out to meet some little relation
That has come to say hello
Rug over lap, tea brought out shared with a cake.

I remember my children collecting flowers from
Neighbours place then presenting them to me
While they were gone I tried to read.
My novel resting cover up upon my knee sitting on the porch
Eyes half shut as my dog laps up my coffee from the cup
A long time ago.

The type of perfect day that people get carried away
With the idea of picnics.
As if the day that is booked will be the same.
Not hot or windy, or threatening rain.

Today I should have made a pot of tea with pancakes,
Sit surrounded by flowers and smiles.

I let it go. Behind the lace curtain I watch
Those light brown trees with speckled light
Turn into silhouette fingers against the backdrop of the darkening sky