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The Room of the Elder
Sleep with your face visible so the young will remember you are with them. You want the others to see your open soul, the flower with petals opened. Sleep with good breath. Wild creatures will know you still breathe and not snip the threads of your making. No angels will think you’ve left the body no matter what pain made of you yesterday. Still, you do in all truth want to wake this morning, and you must keep away the envious who wish to take you with them. In this house of family, we want no harm to others. In this home of being, this great human cosmos, there’s meaning in each enchanted body room where elders dwell and want to be always awake in the room of morning sun. How it has bloomed there. How one can now afford to be open, kind, softly alive in morning as water rains gently from the sky. Maybe my grandchild brings her child to my arms today, or tomorrow a neighbor brings fresh cakes she made. There is always something sweet showing its face. It has risen like new life, food raised by yeast, and the tree I planted bearing its golden nectarines this first time, preparing to fall.