I seesaw merrily

 

My Dichotomies

dichotomies define me:

I am as much introvert as extrovert, and vice versa,

I am as much pessimist as optimist,

tears are as close to my eyes as laughs to my belly,

inaction calls me as surely as action,

I find myself stating something in my poems

and immediately following that take with a “but. . .”

I have made it to 73,

and I feel good,

“the Good Lord willing, 

and the Creeks don’t rise,”

I am 73,

and the chasm 

is knocking at my door,

a dichotomy just shouted at me

on the 5 miles up Mt. LeConte

and on the 7 miles down that great mountain,

my muscles and soul exulted at the top,

the cool dry air supporting my optimism,

the way down flipped my feelings,

my right leg a bit “iffy,”

 so I was cautious in my steps,

on the longer way down,

the increased heat and humidity,

and the bright baking sun,

pulled over 5 pounds of water from me:

my forehead and shirt drenched,

I hydrated the outside,

and I suffered with not enough enabling liquid inside

and not enough limberness

to help me readily move down the rocky trail,

my sons, granddaughter, and niece,

called to help me by my amazing wife,

came to my rescue with electrolytes and liquid,

with supportive camaraderie,

my will, with their help, got me down the last mile and a half,

my humor got me across the last footbridge by the parking lot,

I shook the hands of those near me

and thanked them for being who they are,

I said goodbye in case I didn’t make it the last steps,

across the bridge was my first-born son,

so I laughed that I made it across

since I hadn’t said goodbye to him,

I cannot yet determine whether I am more pleased 

with myself for making it down, again,

or fearful that this should be my last trip up and down,

there is a schizoid duality about me and my dichotomies,

so I seesaw merrily back and forth, and back again.

by Henry H. Walker

June 20, ‘21