Direction
A friend in her late sixties, in radiant
good health, proposes a “death clean”— clearing
all her things to spare those who come after.
Pare down. Downsize. Wind down. But isn’t
“down” just the wrong movement for this moment?
Already shut down by a pandemic now passing, must we
further constrict our lives because of age?
When flowers sense an imminent drought, they blossom
even more extravagantly, to make extra seeds, blooming
in bursts of color—orange poppies, pink peonies, purple
wisteria, yellow lilies—opening themselves up fully.
Wouldn’t the heart prefer an opening rose
as the badge of its new project? Or maybe a red bird
flying up.
—Carolyn L. Tipton
Berkeley, California