Sunday morning--the last Sunday before retirement.  My head and heart are too full to sort out.  I miss teaching.  Even though I have been on sick leave and wage continuance for almost 2 months, I feel THE DAY approaching like a kiss or a bite.  How long will I know that the students are in my 3-4 class or that it is 11th lunch or poetry club?  How long until I know about surgery?  How long can I work on what I have saved to do When I Retire before I have to earn money again?  Why am I instead looking forward to the next incarnation of teaching--tutoring and editing?  THE DAY could be the hug of a bridge between two continents rather than the violence of a kiss/bite.  I may stand on the bridge to watch a few days turn around.

It's been a Long Time . . .

I haven't so much as opened this page in years! 

At the risk of embarrassment, I will leave the ancient posts.  It was Marsha's Blog that brought me here, simply because I wanted to leave a comment on her influential Ferlinghetti post! 

Because I am here, I will leave my latest poem--a harsh one--but approved by the FLC Poetry Club.  I love the years I spent with them.  No regrets.

Waiting

See, it’s like this:
If I were going to hit you  You would be flat on the floor already Or smeared in print on yesterday’s front page. There is no waiting in my world At least, not without a cigarette And I quit the day I retired. This is my time, see And I don’t have the time or the money for waiting And I don’t have time for old habits I don’t have money to burn Retired is the wrong word for now I am de-tired and de-livered With what I know and what I must learn I was never good at waiting for And have spent way too much time doing it As if it earned interest in a hidden bank of the future But I looked in that hopeful vault yesterday And there God’s voice echoed what I had not heard And lists of to-do-laters fluttered in the empty breath So, you see, time is now.

By Susan L. Chast
12 February 2012