Stage Four

One foot in the grave and alakazam! The whole world
opens up to skin, your soul re-covered in ermine, new gray
boots with silver studs, skinny jeans aflame in Orange
Spice and Autumn Berry, a flirtation (that's all!) with

cancer. Why not paint the den, buy an Indian rug? And
how about a copper candelabra? Why not revamp the
the biz, revive those drowning dreams, churn out fifty
extra poems, pure butter. Get a new pup who'll perk up

the old one. It's magic. Heaven cavorts in the smell
of Italian parsley. Every morning, dancing on the red
linoleum while singing karaoke into the kitchen mirror
and sliding through your Michael Jackson moves you

groove, could be the next American Idol. Abracadabra!
Braver than ever before, ignoring the skeleton's boney
finger, the one that has just now grabbed your big left
toe. White ceramic flow of the bedside lamp melts into

its own light, just so, angelic. One foot in the coffin but
there you are, aglow in faithful denial, awash in an April
shower. All the right ideas have broken out of prison.
You throw some wild pastrami into a peanut butter and

jelly sandwich, get high on picking up socks off the floor.
But one sock has disappeared. No problem. Your old friend
can't have gone far. Just hunt until you find it. Or simply
wait, don't fret. It will find a way back on its own.

Comments

[Julie Minoff]

I can help with the pup! ;-) Really dig this poem. Thanks!

[Jill]

Love this....and you! xoxo

[Jeff]

Thrilling! Thank you so much, Jane! Rich with beautiful images of how we should live every day at least from the time we're old enough to comprehend that we won't be here forever, when we realize that the moment we're born we have one foot in the grave. I love this poem.

[Linda]

Wonderful.

[mary ann]

glorious!