From the book “Fading” by Stephen R. Clark
“I feel like the house is slipping away from me,”
he complained one day, annoyed that
things were gone or rearranged.
Every time something vanished
from the house, or was moved,
it came closer to him.
He felt it tugging at his skin.
At his heart. He wasn’t sure
he was ready. Vague anger
stoked the fire of life.
A small raging
against the dying light.
He went through the house
looking, searching,
trying to see what was still left,
what was unmoved.
The more there was, he thought,
the more time he had.
I had to take the candle lights out of the window.
I explained to him why. The cord shorted. Burnt.
He understood but wasn’t happy about it.
I understood why he wasn’t happy.
The imagery is just too close to home
echoing our own aging,
our own wearing down.
No one wants to be discarded
by death. We all want to burn on
forever.
