The Dead and Dreamtime

I have always been an obituary reader

The small town in which I grew — so few left

I remember a time I wished to be away

To find new life

To build a life

But more than not, I stayed here — mostly in the shadows

No face in a jar by the door

My family splintered and dead

I was not and never am quite whole

Lately it seems too many in my age bracket passing, unexpectedly, quickly, of natural causes.

I will not take another booster

I don’t know if that is the issue

Or if it is the COVID

Or the stress of a life upside down via the pandemic

One girl listed in obits today. I knew her face still, immediately.

She seemed to have left for a time to a fancy college in NYC.

Then comeback, lower level jobs.

A lover at the least.

It has been so long since I had a love.

I can feel age upon me now.

Daily, weekly, monthly, yearly

The exhaustion builds, a strange exasperated acceptance, a humorous yet tinged relent.

It is wrapping up. My urgency gone.

The compulsiveness of youthful striving, falling away day by day, armor outgrown…