Video poem:

Photos

A small rectangular photo of my Grandma Clara and I.

I am four years old, curled up on her lap in her favorite rocking chair.

A picture of my Grandma Daphne and I.

I am six, standing next to her at the table on Thanksgiving.

A snapshot of my Grandma Sharon and I.

I am eight, sitting at her kitchen table on Christmas, with the scarf she’s knitted me.

I wonder what picture would come to mind if I knew my Grandma Doris.

Where would we be?

How old would I be?

I clasp her necklace around my neck every morning,

Thinking of her when she wore it, the gold heart resting on her collar.

I try to imagine that she looked like me when she was younger.

I try to picture her as a teenager.

I think of my grandpa, sitting next to me,

Too old now to recognize the necklace of his wife.

I want her back,

Even though she was never there.

I want to hand her the necklace,

And thank her for letting me borrow it.

I want to sit with her on the porch looking over the water at her house,

Side by side on the couch,

Smiling towards my Grandpa as he snaps a picture of us,

For me to keep.

Are Meanings Necessary?

The epitome of irrelevance,

What is it?

A sinister bumblebee?

Crystalline daylight?

Isn’t anything made-up irrelevant?

Serendipitous madness,

Murmuring gladness.

What is a human

Made out of cumin?

What is irrelevant are the meanings,

People believe each word is an imposter,

For something bigger

Hidden behind big words and rhymes.

Meant to sound important and meaningful.

But they mean nothing more than

A Dorian elephant,

A grassy tryst.

If I we’re reading the works of a renowned poet

Or even anyone who seemed confident in what they were writing

I’d think the nonsense had a deep

Unspoken meaning.

It’s okay for a poem to have words put together like

Mysterious Singaporean

Maybelline lassie

Bumping locks.

We’re all just human,

No poet needs to write with meaning.

A poem can mean nothing less than funny words,

Put together onto paper.

They can even be as meaningless as a

Veggie tragedy.

The Inevitability of Becoming a Senor Citizen

I am afraid of age.

I’ve watched my grandparents turn

Arthritic and dull,

Numb.

Unable to get up on their own,

Go to the bathroom,

Answer the phone.

I do not want that life.

When I was younger

I used to tell people

I never wanted to live past forty.

I dread the time where my skin will become wrinkly

And my bones sore.

I do not want to become tired at 6 p.m.

Nor have to wear glasses to be able to read words on a page

I hate the idea of my children putting me in a nursing home,

Or not having my parents and family around.

I like my skin soft and un-speckled

I like staying up until 11 because I have energy

I like having my parents take care of me

Watch over me,

Take care of me,

Guide me.

I have a special connection to the elderly,

People always tell me I do.

I’ve wondered why,

But now I think I know.

I can sympathize.

I pity them.

I understand how awful it would be in their place

Eating pureed food,

Watching TV day in and day out,

Nurses taking care of you,

Everyone you know and loved

Gone.

I saw my Grandpa Lee,

A very agile and energized old man,

Breathless as he moved boxes,

Into his new home.

Every few times he lifted something

He had to sit on the couch to rest.

I can’t take the knowledge that that is as good as it gets

At that age.

In elementary school,

One friend asked my group

“Would you rather die young in your sleep,

or old by a painful murder”

Everyone was stuck,

Unable to choose their answer.

They wanted long lives,

But they wanted to die peacefully.

Everyone was shocked when I answered immediately

“Die young of course.”

Surprised by the fact that I didn’t care that I’d live a short life.

I am young now,

I do not know how I will think in the future,

If I will find a job,

A husband,

Or have children

That will make old age worth it.

Although almost everyone does.

But for now,

I want energy,

Freedom,

Independence,

Family,

Memories.

But most of all,

I want youth.