Spoke to my old college buddy, M., this morning.
Her husband, C., keeled over and died in the middle of their conversation
in their hotel room
There he was one minute yammering away
and then he was gone
M. was asking him from the bathroom,
having just gotten out of the shower herself,
if he was going to shower next or
wait until morning?
“Now.” He answers her. “I can smell myself.”
She hears what sounds like something dropping on the floor
in the next room.
And sure enough…
something had dropped on the floor…
He was stone, cold dead.
That makes me weep.
I weep not
for my friend, M.
nor for her husband, C.
I weep because life is so fragile…
As I sit here at my window altar
writing these words,
I have no way of knowing if they will be my last
and if in a week or so
my daughter will be using her
emergency key to enter my apartment
to dispose of my rotting, stinking body
after my soul had up and decided to leave today
without even saying good-bye.
That thought makes makes me laugh…
And I am then filled with gratitude
for having left this apartment yesterday
to meet up with my Sister Drum Slut, Y.
where I drummed my ass off
along with a handful of diehard drummers
squeezing in as much drumming as we can
before fall turns to winter
and it’s just too damn cold
to sit out there in the park
drumming for hours as if
our lives depended upon it.
And they do…
depend upon it…
at least mine does…
We drummed as if our spirits
would up and leave
if we didn’t drum for our lives…