Deadwood

At five years shy of fourscore, I wish my brain less encumbered by the flotsam and jetsam of trivia, amassed by accident rather than design.

I know Yogi’s uniform number was eight, Mantle’s, seven, and Babe Ruth’s, three. I know the words to Emma Lazarus’s poem on the base of the Statue of Liberty. I know Michigan is shaped like a mitten, Detroit at the thumb. I know the preferred pronunciation for minutiae, in which I’m now drowning.

On the other hand, I easily forget the name of the tree that anchors my patio, or the cross street at the shopping center where I’m meeting a friend for lunch, or the item I meant to add to my shopping list— zucchini? peanut butter? guacamole?— Instead I roam the aisles at the supermarket, hoping for a spark of recognition.

While I may seem a perfect candidate to be a contestant on Jeopardy, I fear that’s the time my synapses would choose to go on strike. Instead of the responses that come so quickly to me in my living room, I’d be left to ask plaintively: What is It’s on the tip of my tongue?

Martha Golensky

Martha Golensky began writing poetry after retiring from the faculty at Grand Valley State University, where she taught Social Work, and relocating to Greensboro, NC. Her work has been published in print and online journals and anthologies. She is a volunteer instructor in poetry at the Shepherd's Center in Greensboro, a non-profit serving older adults. Her first collection, Pride of Place, was released in 2018.