Finding myself being twice as old as my son — and brief reflection


 
I am 66, he 33.
This will never happen again.
 
He is catching up with me.
If he lives to be 1000
 
And I am still alive,
I will be 1033.
 
By that time
California will be a desert.
 
But we will sit in an old growth forest
In what used to be Alberta
 
And we will talk about things
That would only interest 1000-year-old men.
 
Not health, because
We would have mastered the health-thing.
 
No, we will talk about dreams
And yogurt and colors.
 
Also, we won’t be using words
But whistles, like the birds
 
Who will, I like to imagine, flourish
After the Climate Crash of 2053.
 
I will smile and look into his craggy face
And he will see how much I love him.
 
And I will see his love for me.
I really like having an old soul!
 
It makes it easy to see beyond
And feel OK with the possibility that
 
Things may not get better
For a long, long time.
 
Reflection: When my son was one year old I was 33 times older than him. Now I am only twice as old as he is. He is catching up with me. In this poem I having fun imagining what it would be like if my son and I lived so long that we were almost peers. What would that be like? To make it seem less impossible, I picture sitting in a Sequoia forest where the trees are as old as us even though we are as old as the hills. What would such old specimens of humanity talk about? It occurred to me that 1000-year-old men would have no interest in. . .whatever we talk about when we are 100 or less years old. Why yogurt? Because I love yogurt so much I figure that it counts among those things that I could never get tired of even if I lived a thousand years. Love would also last 1000 years.

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