Living with the Elephant

by Cynthia Bernard


I guess the fog has little cat feet sometimes
but around here
it dances with the wind,
wild and fierce,
especially at dawn,
howling across the ocean, up the hill,
gusting my robe against me,
sloshing coffee into my face as I try for a sip.

I guess aging is gradual sometimes
but around here
it’s been a tempest,
arising suddenly,
wild and fierce and relentless,
wrenching my days apart
into a before that can never be found again
and a very different now.

I guess one could fight it sometimes,
hair dye, face cream, denial,
supplements and potions,
exercises, affirmations.
I guess one could simply accept it,
sometimes.
Around here, though,
arthritis has swept in on elephant feet,
fierce and relentless,
and no pill, no potion,
no affirmation, no meditation,
can sweep it out again.

I guess one could handle things gracefully
and sometimes I do,
but around here there are the other times, too,
when everything seems to hurt
and I just want to stay under a quilt
for whatever part of forever
I get to see.

And then again there are yet other times,
sometimes,
the majesty of the ocean at first light,
the sweetness of love found late,
my hand sliding into his,
new buds on the camellia,
rain on the roof, deer in the yard,
granddaughter’s smile,
or just a nothing-special-time
in the exquisiteness of the now.

And I find that sometimes,
increasingly often,
I welcome it all,
the cat’s feet and the elephant,
things wild and fierce,
quiet moments and raging ones,
lines on my face,
creaky joints and aching bones,
wind in my hair,
full heart,
fog over the ocean at dawn.


* * * * *

"Living with the Elephant" was first published in Multiplicity Magazine (Issue 4, Spring/Summer 2022).

Cynthia Bernard is a woman in her late 60's who is finding her voice as a poet after many decades of silence. A long-time classroom teacher and a spiritual mentor, she lives and writes on a hill overlooking the ocean, about 20 miles south of San Francisco.