Tipton Poetry Journal – Winter 2022
Off Balance Claire Scott When did the balance shift like a playground seesaw or a emptying hourglass. When did it shift from looking forward to my grandchild’s graduation or a sun-soaked cruise in the Greek islands to looking back, trolling for memories of a temple in Erice or maybe Segesta, of winning the school spelling bee with the word reminiscence or was that my sister? How did I not notice? Serried memories blur, overlap, dim and disappear. I make my wobbled way to the sofa and page through old albums, photos taken centuries before cell phones, some with black triangles in the corners, gluing them in place. Who are all these people looking like life is a lark, a walk in a tree-lined park? Could that be Aunt Jennie or possibly cousin Rachel who died last year of diabetes or dementia or despair? Didn’t they know most people die? That we are all riding a roller coaster on the way down, holding onto life with a death grip. Why not close the albums, bundle up and step outside even if your legs are unsteady, even if your fingers are freezing and winter seems reluctant to leave, its unrelenting rawness seeping your bones. Feel the soft sting of snowflakes on your tongue, listen to the call of tree sparrows. If you are lucky, you will loosen your grip, enjoy the giddy ride, the glistening trees, the giggling children, the Sunday farmers selling Brussels sprouts and kale. If you are lucky, you will wake to a spring that still includes you.
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