Journeys we take repeatedly from home
to parents should leave ruts in roads travelled,
but we find them in hearts and minds instead.
There they speed up or slow down on approach
depending on what we anticipate—
pleasure or pain—until age rushes us.
We grow old, but they grow older, and hard
as it is to see them decline, we watch
to love and watch to learn, aware we’re next.
Mortality has had its way with us.
What now can we govern? What controls us?
What kindness have we earned? Where is it from?
Unconditional love exists if we
can leave our ruts and give wholeheartedly.
My blog poems are rough drafts.
Please respect my copyright.
© 2018 Susan L. Chast