Joy to the world

By Marge Piercy

 Now I must learn to understand, to accept
deaths of those I’ve loved, the pain
of weak joints, new memory full of holes
that days, faces slip through.
There is no other life but this with all
Its grime and guts.  Breathing becomes an art.
Every morning is still new and the sun rises
whether we see it or not.
Every flower is a gift I’ve lived to smell.
Love glows more intensely in the twilight.
I polish old memories, amber taking on
heat and power till they shine.
There is no boredom now for each moment
is precious as a kitten and requires much
care.  What can I take for granted now?
My own hand is strange to me.
I dream less and sleep more deeply.
I let ambition rise, drift off like a helium
filled balloon until it’s just a speck,
free of its prods and jerks.
I sit in every hour seeking to enjoy it.
Everything slow ebbs and glides
away, away.  My body has it own agenda
carrying me along.
Praise my aching body that still gives
me pleasure in the arms of my long love.
Praise the land that feeds me and many wild
creatures, that still gives
me joy in each season with its colors
and otherness. Praise friends who help
and companion me. Praise my cats
with their loyalty.
So much of my life was struggle
to survive, to learn, to write what
I had to, to find love.  I let go of all
but love now till the end.