National Poetry Month 2014: Anne Le Dressay,

Solitary people

Solitary people of a certain age
feel their stories rise irresistibly in them,
pushing to get out.
The stories take up too much room.
They crowd and quarrel
like misbehaving children.
They spill out, sometimes the same story
on every occasion, one that has jostled
its competitors aside
            for now.
It spills and spills, as if it can’t stop
until it finds the perfectly receptive ear
(which never happens).

Solitary people of a certain age
are afraid their stories will die with them.
They spill to friends and acquaintances,
to passengers in the next seat on bus or plane,
to chance neighbors on park benches
or in waiting rooms or in the lobbies
of their apartment blocks.
They want to root their stories in other minds
so that something of them will continue
when they don’t.

They forget so much, so much.
That others have stories too.
That the words of others
are not just hooks to hang their stories on.
That countless stories
as vivid and urgent as theirs
have been lost with every faltering memory,
every fading breath.

Solitary people of a certain age
feel pushed to the periphery
and then (they know) it will be over the edge.
Their words push back against
the indifference of the vital, vivid world
they are losing.

Their stubborn words hang on.

Anne Le Dressay is a past contributor to ottawater. She has published two poetry books, Old Winter (2007) and Sleep Is a Country (1997). She lives in Ottawa, where she is happily retired from the public service.