CURES FOR SADNESS

October 11, 2020 / John Grimmett

Light through the window
in early morning.
The sounds of Pete Seeger
or Mahalia Jackson
or other yesterdays while
you make pancakes.
Moving your feet,
clumsily,
to the rhythm,
pouring a third cup of coffee.
Time in the garden,
smelling the sage
and nursing the begonias
and anticipating rhododendron.
Taking just a few moments to listen
to the Adagietto
from Mahler’s 5th Symphony.
Wandering through the pages of
Cannery Row
or East of Eden
or some other Steinbeck
you used to cloak around your shoulders
in the days of your boyhood.
Cleaning a coin
that belonged to your grandfather,
and searching for a letter
someone wrote you in high school.
Tasting a strawberry,
perhaps for the only time,
as the sun melts into the horizon.
Later, a glass of the champagne
you kept in the fridge for months
and a joke,
laughing and groaning.
Later still,
a going-through of things:
photo albums, old birthday cards,
a pack of old remembrances and yearbooks,
touching the names of friends
no longer able to enjoy the day
you just had,
remembering them,
trying to remember their voices,
wiping tears from your cheeks,
touching their permanence
in 35mm.
Then, an admission:
the knowing of your own time,
the measure of your heart’s travel.
A cup of tea before bed.
The slowing of the mind,
putting off, for now,
calendars and days
and life ahead
for dreams of fields of wheat
and endless clouds
and drifting off into a wholeness,
of which, you shall always pursue.

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