We believed in band aids and Bactine® for scrapes, cuts, and most wounds; of course, stitches were in order when called for. We believed in the body healing itself with assistance when needed, and the best way to take weight off was to start by not putting it on; muscles would atrophy if not used, like creativity, and the choices we made about what we put in our bodies and did to ourselves and whom we allowed into our lives, into our minds and that jalopy word consciousness, had to do with outlook and health as much as anything else. Same with routine. Rhythm, pace, flow, whether making soup or writing, the poem / the line between the two not much of a delineation at all.
We came from a family of nurses. You can doctor a drink, or you can nurse a drink, and naturally we preferred the latter. And we believed when it was time to go it was time to go, and if it was hard to leave then that meant our time had been well spent.
Unclenching is a sign of healing. All the little letting-go’s, you said, prepare us for the ultimate big one. Philosophy only takes you so far. A walking flute-stick, on the other hand, a canteen of water, bread, and a bowl of soup will take you the distance. Shape won’t be determined overnight. A diner with pancakes, mug of coffee, and crisp bacon in Benson, Arizona will be remembered. The slice of homemade pie that I did not order but admired behind the glass counter brought smiles for miles to come. The road like life has many rules, written and unwritten, asphalt worthy, taking us home wherever home may be.
Bio: Guy Biederman
