
My Friend Sherry*
The last time
I saw my friend Sherry
was about a week
before she died.
I’d known her for over
20 years
and she was wealthy
and good-looking
and generous over all those years.
A true friend
and someone
I knew I could rely on
and who I hope felt the same
towards me.
She was still
partly all of those
things
that last time
I saw her.
But she was mostly
aware that
she was going to die
very soon
and she was ready.
Her explanation
of the suicide cocktail pills
she had
was a bit confused
and confusing.
One moment she said she’d need
to swallow 1500,
and was unsure if she could manage
but few minutes later
she thought maybe she’d
only need 15 or so?
She wasn’t real clear
on what it would take
or when, or even if
she was going to take them
but since her cancer
was incurable
and had been found,
initially
in her brain
she wanted to be sure
not to wait too long.
She wanted to have the option
of leaving under her own terms
because
it would be the last
small bit of freedom
and power she’d have.
I told her
that if she needed any help
I’d be willing to assist her.
Her choosing the time to leave
when no other choices were left to her
didn’t seem to me then,
and doesn’t seem to me now,
like suicide—
more like simple acceptance.
At my offer to help her,
she smiled
and seemed to understand.
And I think she appreciated it.
I knew and know
a lot of shit
about Sherry
that most people
don’t and won’t
ever know,
because I’ll never tell.
I can assure all that
she was a classy
dame
from a strange
background,
but she’d transcended all that
through guts and smarts and good looks
and as her time to die
approached
she was not going to let
her illness defeat her—
Destroy,
well, yes, there’s not much
one can do about that,
but defeat?
Nope,
wasn’t going to happen.
Her old friend
Donald, who
had set-up this
final get-together
for the three of us,
was shaken
and sad
and turning to Jesus
and God to help him.
But Sherry and I,
looking square into
one another’s eyes,
knew,
in our bones and hearts
that there isn’t any
God
out there
helping ,
or ignoring us for that matter.
And that in the end
you’re on your own.
That’s just the way it is.
The last few moments with Sherry,
she looked at me
and smiled
and the clarity in her
big brown eyes
said more than
any of the words
we had exchanged.
It was the same clarity
I’d seen in my mother’s eyes
the last time I saw her,
before her brain cancer
killed her too.
A clarity of self-knowledge,
acceptance,
and the desire
to enjoy, as much as
their difficult circumstances allowed,
their final breaths.
I don’t know whether Sherry
took her death cocktail or not.
But two weeks later
she was dead.
So,
goodbye Sherry,
my dear old friend,
I’m glad that
in the end
I could hear you
whisper to me
without words,
a final loving message:
“Relax,
you’re going
to die one day too”.
I know darlin’. I know.
*Image courtesy of Deborah Cole
Two More Brief Visits to the Land of Aging
Superlatives
I’ve observed
That as people approach death,
Experiencing it as imminent,
Everything they consider
Takes on a
Superlative value:
The greatest
Song, movie, book, meal
Sex, dream, conversation,
EVERY thing,
The greatest EVER.
Either god has it set-up
To make us wait ’til
The very end
To get to feel the best
Or death has a way
Of playing with us
By whispering in our ear
That
Poltergeist
Is the greatest movie ever made
And that now, knowing this,
You can die
A happy man.
There Are Days
And I’m afraid this
May be one of them.
When I want nothing
More
From my fellow man
Than to be
Left
The fuck alone.
On such days
It might be wise
Of you
NOT
To thank me
For my patience.
Right now*
There comes
a part of grieving
that is not so much
acceptance of what’s been lost
as it is owning the emotions
of dealing with it all.
I turned 69 years old
less than a month ago,
and our calendar
had just turned over
to this new year when,
if I’m lucky enough,
I’ll become a septuagenarian.
The fight for the future
is not my fight any longer.
I’m going to sit
or take a walk
in the sunshine
and watch the trees
wave softly in the breeze
and think about
vodka, scotch or wine
for Happy Hour.
And save my money
and spend my money
and eventually
get sick and die
or just
die.
Good luck to you
my younger brothers
and sisters.
I mean it, best of luck.
My dog just wandered
down and sat next to me.
He’s old now too.
He sees me as a
dog-cookie dispenser
and not much else.
And fact is,
he’s right.
And this is fine by me.
*When I intitially posted this I mistakenly attributed its source to my collection WHO KNEW?! It is actually in the collection ant god to the rescue.
At Poker Last Night…
…Mikey accidentally
dealt 4 cards to
two of the players
and 3 cards to
the rest of us,
which wasn’t noticed
until the end of the hand
when one of the guys
with 4 cards
and me with 3 cards
were left and the betting
was finished.
The guy with 4 cards,
naturally, had a far better chance
of making a winning hand
than I had.
And indeed, he won.
But the 4 cards vs 3 cards wasn’t noticed until then.
I got angry and yelled
and made a big fuss.
After this mess was all
rather unsatisfactorily settled
by my sense of it,
Mikey and I argued
back and forth,
rather good-naturedly
but with an edge
of combativeness
until finally
we stopped
bringing it up.
I suspect there are
several giant
points of ethics,
epistemology,
character and personality
traits and disorders
available for a smart
enough poet to examine
in this fiasco
but unfortunately,
or fortunately for you,
that poet ain’t me.
Also available in a blog/prose format at
https://medium.com/p/add94384a04c/edit
The Enemy…
…of ignorance
is information and facts
and the willingness
to entertain new
or different ideas.
The enemy of happiness
is deeply held passionate rage
based on nonsense
and avoidance of
facts and reason.
Some people are angry
all the time
and look for justification
to explain their unhappiness.
The enemy is out there
and
in here.
The poet’s job
is to say the thing
that must be said,
unafraid of bullets or bayonets
and confident beyond
the meaning of the words.
In the darkness of early morning,
long before the sun rises,
the world asleep,
we awaken, blink our eyes
and know
truth as we hear it,
know, without doubt,
when truth is somehow real.
History nods to us from
a thousand years ahead,
and from today
and from a thousand years ago.
The enemy is always here
always close, watching and waiting:
ignorance or wisdom?
We have to choose.
In My Dream…
…I was somehow very wise
and experienced
and confident in my
notions about how
to counsel
a young guy
looking for wisdom.
He spoke to me
saying how compassionate
and positive I was.
I smiled and
answered,
“No, I have plenty of
skepticism at times.”
At which point a young woman
walking by us
interrupted with a comment
about how negative I could be,
but then she quickly realized
that I’d already owned that
and apologized and retreated.
I started to scold her
but then realized she had,
after all, apologized,
so I quickly forgave her.
I sat back as the young man,
who probably was my younger self,
moved on.
And I realized,
I’m an old guy now
and kind of a guru
and mentor to these
younger writers and seekers.
I woke up
and thought,
“What the hell was that all about?”
I fell back asleep
and was inundated by
nightmares
of an apocalyptic end of all life.
Awakening from that
I realized,
“Well now,
that feels a bit more
like it.”
Gentle Day with Hidden Killers*
At the Desert Museum
in Tucson,
perfect weather,
70 degrees and a light breeze.
The animals in their safe enclosures
all seem calm and relaxed,
javelinas,
a pacing coyote,
birds of prey.
I walk along the dusty path.
Signage suggests
to keep a look-out
for venomous creatures
in this
“Natural habitat and
desert environment.”
I realize that
I don’t feel any pull to do anything
other than what I’m doing,
to be anywhere else,
and even better
to be anyone other than who I am.
I’ve spent an entire lifetime
getting to where I can walk along,
just me and a few hidden killers,
and feel
relaxed and happy
and most of all
contented.
*Check-out blog/prose versions of more of my work at: https://ttrueman.medium.com/
Contentment
Used to be
almost profanity to me.
To say it, feel it,
think about it,
and to accept it
implied a giving-up.
But that’s changed
over the years.
I still dream grand schemes
of immortality
and greatness,
total happiness,
fame and fortune;
but time and age
have created a wide space in me
for satisfaction and contentment
in the moments/things/the time
I have left.
And in
relishing the present
when that moment
is not full of pain.
And even when pain is present
I have the ability
to sustain my recollection
of those soft, gentle moments
that make being alive
worth the trouble:
a well-cooked steak,
a happy hour full of laughter,
a breeze blowing lightly
through the mesquite tree
just outside the big window.
One day maybe
I’ll unravel whether these moments
provide contentment
or contentment provides these moments.
But for now,
whichever way that trail runs,
I’m just glad to be on it
Good to be back Prose!!
After having a few months of problems signing into Prose, I gave up for awhile. But I'm happy to be back with my fellow Prose friends and writers. I have also been posting versions of my work (many poems altered into short prose/blog type of presentations) on Medium.com, another excellent site. But I hope to use my Prose postings to present my work in its original poetic form, and to enjoy all of your writings, old friends and new.
Thanks especially much to those of you who have continued to support my work, bu reading and commenting, nice to see you again! xoxo
Terry Trueman
Things I Never Have to do again*
The number of people
I never have to see again
or spend time with again,
and the number of places
I’ll never have to visit
or revisit
and the minutes and hours I’ll
never have to feel
easing or galloping
away from me
while I’m doing
shit I don’t want to do,
all of this
feels like the
increase,
the rising up
and leaving me
finally, free.
I always loved that line
“freedom’s just another word
for nothing left to lose”
and it turns out this is true,
but more purely simple
and glorious than
you can ever understand
before being free
of the things
you didn’t even realize
were dragging you down.
*From my new book WHO KNEW?! available for free in PDF
Announcement
Hey Prosers, although I hope you will purchase my new book (or any/all of my books) I'll send any proser who follows me a FREE PDF of my newest, available next week at www.latahbooks.com. Request a copy via email to ttrueman1215@msn.com