I was saddened to read about Nora Ephron’s death last week. I watch Sleepless in Seattle regularly, and I love her writings. I wrote the following poem in response to an article by Nora in Vogue Magazine. The second poem is along the similar lines.

 

To Nora Ephron

 

Dear Nora,

Thanks for writing about “the D word.”

But really —  in Vogue’s Age Issue?

I wanted to see what, if anything,

Vogue would have to say

to those of us in our sixties.

And there you are, exactly my age,

writing about death – your friend’s death.

 

But we still have to wear something

and do something with our faces maybe

and maybe our skin or our nails or our hands and feet, or . . .

 

We can’t just wait for the big D;

denial’s not working,

fantasy goes only so far.

 

Couragio! I know!

Let’s be Italian in our last years.

Eat, drink wine, sing, make art,

bring joy.

That’s our work –

to bring fun to our serious, hardworking children –

cookies, chocolate, flowers, music –

to remind them that life is short and wonderful.

 

 

Love and Fun  

 

I don’t know anything

especially what I used to especially

about what people should do or

why life is the way it is or what

brings happiness except for

living in the now difficult and

trite as that is. Now is

all we have now is where

to find joy and happiness now

is bliss.

What-if,

if-then,

if-when

nobody knows, least of all me.

I saw it yesterday in a cottonwood tree heard it in a bird song. It’s

in beauty and kindness and of course love.

I’m sorry I have no answers.

The older I am the less I know.

I’m only good for love and fun.