Earlier this week I reprinted a powerful piece by a college classmate. Today, a moving meditation on life and aging written by a talented high school friend, Tom Crider. As with poetry generally, it’s probably best to read Tom’s poem aloud (although I wasn’t able to do it without tearing up).

Below Tom’s poem is a photo of a painting that hangs in our kitchen, created by the talented artist Nick Lamia. Karma!

Now

There’s the repaired swivel chair on the patio

still able to hold your weight,

and there’s the morning breeze

brushing past your cheek,

and there’s the presence of the Japanese maple

transplanted long ago from your father’s backyard.

Now you’re getting used to things

that will not be happening again—

from now on never to look into a pair of eyes

saying, Let’s go somewhere and take off our clothes;

never again to feel you’ve nailed the proud turn

of the tango.

Now you almost love how you’ve been one

of many stones tumbled along by the river of time.

You’re about to say you’ve finally learned

to roll with it all, but that would be false.

It’s okay that there’s no word for the pleasure

of watching that chipmunk run

to the toe of your shoe, then stop, blink,

and go on with its day.

You think about how a life is made

of a million nows, and you feel quite sure

there’s no way your father’s dying

miserably in a hospital bed

would have cancelled out the best

moments of his time alive.

Now there’s the breeze again, a little warmer,

stirring the leaves of his tree.

—Tom Crider