The Tourist
Leave it to a poet to have his last words upon leaving this world be: “My ride showed up.” – John Trudell February 15, 1946 – December 8, 2015
There’s an urge to contract
that brings waves of panic
the kind my sister had
when she started chemo
for the cancer she knew
would likely kill her
We fade out slowly
and revel in the parts that remain
bringing everything down
to a fine focus
and dismissing
what doesn’t engage
We’re unpacking
for the unknown journey
a one-way only stand-by fate
where we lose ourselves
and make our children cry
with no second chances
or way to comfort them
There is an acceptance, finally
that we’re not yet invisible
that we’re not incapable of joy
We’re tourists to our own aging
We’ve never been here before
We take field-notes and pictures
and watch the other travelers
We cross our fingers
and look for simple pleasures
We hold on but don’t cling
to all that is passing
We enjoy the view
from the scenic route
__________Colleen Redman / Poets and Storytellers United
May 31st, 2020 2:00 am
Tea certainly helps. Douglas Adams would approve.
May 31st, 2020 3:07 am
You captured so much that is familiar in this poem, Colleen, it made my heart skip a beat: the waves of panic, the ‘unpacking for an unknown journey’, and the acceptance that we’re not yet invisible, ‘tourists to our own aging’. You’ve treated is with honesty and a delicate touch that makes it all OK, especially with that final cup of tea.
May 31st, 2020 4:00 am
I think you have absolutely nailed how it is, and in words that say it beautifully.
May 31st, 2020 5:27 am
Beautiful words to capture harsh reality. Loved this. And as an Englishman, there’s only thing to beat a cup of tea – a pint of beer.
May 31st, 2020 6:47 am
I do think that poets and writers would like to live on in their words. What better gift to those you love than your words which reveal another side of yourself.
May 31st, 2020 8:08 am
This is such an evocative write, Colleen. You capture the reality of our world with such finesse. I especially like; “We’re tourists to our own aging.” ?
May 31st, 2020 10:01 am
Amazing and overwhelming in turns–this is a poem that hits that at which it aimed.
May 31st, 2020 5:19 pm
This is an exquisite rendering of the journey and acceptance of the point at which we can no longer deny this thing is beyond our control.
May 31st, 2020 6:03 pm
An amazing poem … this line resonated ‘we’re tourists to our own aging we’ve never been here before’ …. cheers.
May 31st, 2020 11:09 pm
Like Helen said, I really like this part: “We’re tourists to our own aging / We’ve never been here before”
I feel like this applies not just to getting older but just living, especially this year… :/
June 1st, 2020 6:29 am
We’re tourists to our own aging – wow!
June 1st, 2020 7:15 am
We’re unpacking
for an unknown journey
a one-way only stand-by fate…
I feel deeply touched by your words.
June 1st, 2020 10:20 am
Wow, i never looked at it that way as a tourist at one time in my life. Great insight. Great write!
June 1st, 2020 2:09 pm
I am all about “revel[ling] in the parts that remain”. The alternative smells of dying while still breathing. And who needs that, right?
June 1st, 2020 2:41 pm
It’s a process of changing that starts long before dying. I think of it as spending time in the dark room to study and develop the manifestation I’ve made of my life before moving on to the unknown. I don’t think of grieving and honoring as negative but an appropriate aspect of eldering, a developmental stage that puts me in touch with my soul, just like yearning was when I was a teenager and I liked the songs and stories that made me cry the best.
June 1st, 2020 6:49 pm
Tourists here on a temporary visa. I think sometimes we lose sight of that. A fine poem.
June 3rd, 2020 8:53 am
“tourists to our own aging”
We are indeed, so we might as well enjoy the view!
June 4th, 2020 11:50 pm
“We fade out slowly
and revel in the parts that remain”
Why is this so true? Thanks for that.
June 11th, 2020 3:15 pm
I like the idea of being tourists to our own aging. As you say, put the kettle on, enjoy the ride.
June 11th, 2020 3:36 pm
Good observation: “We’re tourists to our own aging
We’ve never been here before”
June 11th, 2020 4:21 pm
Trourist to our own aging seems to be the phrase that captured the fancy of us all! A commonality, I surmise. Wonderful capture, Colleen! I’ll trade that tea for a bit ‘o wine.
June 11th, 2020 4:34 pm
I think that we are mostly unaware of the end of the journey… despite the fact, it always ends the same… but maybe we all reach a point where we see the end of the road.
June 11th, 2020 6:53 pm
new insights in your poem, this one in particular:
“We’re tourists to our own aging
We’ve never been here before”
June 12th, 2020 2:48 pm
Bob Dylan wrote ‘I sleep with life and death in the same bed’ ~~~ true.
June 13th, 2020 12:04 pm
To accept the life we have is the only way to live it.