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Saturday, March 26, 2016

Whims of the Wind

Each morning I open myself to the possibility.

To the best of my ability

at that particular moment

I open myself.


The eastern edge of the Milky Way

is a suggested destination.

Moving at the whim of the wind

would be a blessed boon.


Alas. The best of my ability,

though a great leap beyond my early efforts,

is still not good enough.


Opening, which sounds so simple,

is relative.

From the accessibility

of the opened book

to the meager, begrudged slit

of an almost-closed closet door—

openness ranges through its degrees.

At each level—

I can hardly deny it—

a little something slides in.

But I aim and ache for

the wide-openness

of floating

on the whims of the wind.


Copyright © 2016 Ann Tudor

Sunday, March 20, 2016

Not Yet But Soon

We get the word the minute we exit the womb.

And then we spend most of our lives

(in collusion with those who love us)

denying it.

If we heeded it from the start

would we change?

Would our actions be affected?


Not yet, we would know, but soon.

Would we take that philosophically?

See it as a sentence? A threat? A promise?


There are so many ways to present the simple truth--

namely, no one gets out of this alive.

Loss is built in to the situation.

Early or late we will learn what we came to learn

and then we leave.

And every day I give thanks

for one more day to try to get it right.

May the learning never stop.


We pray "not yet, not yet"

even though we know the truth:

Not yet, but soon.



Copyright © 2016 Ann Tudor





Sunday, March 13, 2016

Mary and Martha, Revisited

You're delusional if you think I'll change just because you want me to.


That's not what I meant.


Oh really? Then explain it to me.


I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings. I just meant that it might be rewarding for you to use your mind a bit more. Like, join us when we're having a serious discussion instead of going off and doing laundry. Or fixing lunch.


Oh, that's rich! Have you ever given any thought to what I do? Come off your high horse some day and follow me around.


I know you're busy. All the time, you're busy. But it's your choice. The teachers and I, we just think you'd benefit from taking part in the conversation.


I hear bits of those conversations while I'm working. And I have to say I am unimpressed. High-flown ideas that mean nothing. Purely analytical discussion with no grounding at all. That's not for me.


I'm a bit insulted that you're so dismissive of our work, Martha.


And you aren't being insulting when you question my choices? Answer me this, sister dear. How long do you think your beloved teachers would hang around if it weren't for my cooking and my cleaning and my running to the basement to launder their smalls? Things would fall apart pretty fast if these geniuses had to fend for themselves, don't you think?


I think I know why you're so testy. I think it's because someone made a comment at lunch yesterday about leftovers. Is that why you're so worked up?


So what? There's no extra money around here, and the one doing the cooking (that's me) is hard pressed to feed that shiftless group. So sometimes you get leftovers for lunch. No need for nasty digs at someone just doing her best.


That's partly my point. It is your job simply because you have chosen it. You choose to do the cooking. I'm saying you could have chosen—you could still choose—to be better than that.


"Better", is it? Well, my point is that someone has to feed you lazy pretentious louts who sit around pontificating out your posteriors and then criticize the hands that feed you.


Martha, this is an old, old argument we're having.


You're telling me. And the argument continues because you never, ever get what I've been saying. The more modern the times get, Mary, the less you understand me. The world would benefit from more, not less, groundedness. Drink water. Put your feet on the ground. Get your head out of your navel, or the sky, or wherever it is you spout from. Try being real for a change. Try cooking a meal. Or, if you think you're too good to do that, then at least let me do my work—my work—in peace.




Copyright © 2016 Ann Tudor

Sunday, March 6, 2016

Keep Going

Keep going, you say. See what will happen

when the slough of despond yawns wide

at your feet

or when the going gets so tough

that the tough fold and say "no more."

You can say "keep going" till you're blue in the face

but it won't make a difference

because there are times when I don't really care

what happens—don't care to invest

any more energy beating that dead horse

of hope, of "see what happens."

In the long run,

what will happen to every one of us

is pretty much a foregone conclusion.


However, by the time you are ready

to join me here in this Land of Old, Older, Oldest

maybe that elephant working its way

through the body of the snake

(i.e., the Boomers)

will have discovered a cure:

no death, no loss of friends

(or even old acquaintances

barely remembered from school days).

Instead, the Boomers will exert their demographic might

to alter it all: no more wrinkles,

no more arthritis,

no more Alzheimer's,

no more death.


Copyright © 2016 Ann Tudor