Voices on the Wind
Voices on Aging
Comfort of My Room
by Larry Turner
Here I am at my doctorís office.
I couldnít ask for a better doctor. I trust him.
But this office complex: All these corridors. All these doors.
I canít wait much longer. Iíve got to get away
and back to my retirement community, back to my room,
back to those photos on my walls of my parents and grandparents.
Here I am, eating dinner in the community dining room with my friend.
A pleasant time. I havenít seen him for quite a while.
But as the evening goes by, more and more I wonder:
When will this dinner end? When will he leave?
What will he think if I just get up and walk home?
I need to be back in my room amid my Mary Cassett prints,
my native American paintings, back in my comfortable nest.
Here I am in my room. My brother has come to visit.
We have a lot of catching up to do. We talk,
but as the talk goes on, I find that more and more
my attention wanders from him to the comfort
of my surroundings: the watercolor painting
of the home where we lived in England,
the posters on my wall from Capri. When will he leave?
I know he doesnít mean to offend, but Iím about
to throw him out and again descend
into the quiet depths of my room.