The Caregiver

Poems

Caroline Johnson

• Publisher: Holy Cow! Press
• Year: 2020
• eBook ISBN: 9781513645667
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Poetry
• Index: Literature

The Caregiver is Caroline Johnson's first full-length publication. It includes 50 poems that were inspired by the 15 years she devoted to taking care of her aging parents. The gathering includes free verse, lyrical poems, prose poetry and some formal verse. Many of the poems won contests and have been previously published in online print journals and anthologies. The poems touch on the topic of grieving but go beyond and focus on the many difficulties a caregiver experiences—both emotional and physical—yet also recognize the spiritual gifts that come with helping a loved one. Caregiving is a significant issue for our times and will only become more important as our population ages.

I.

Remember your father.

He is your life, also.

—Joy Harjo

CROSSING

Today I came across a painted turtle

as I was bicycling near a canal.

He had stopped in the middle of the trail,

head erect, all limbs exposed, waiting.

He seemed stuck in the moment,

moving neither forward nor backward,

trapped in time.

I thought of you, dear father,

moving across unstable ground,

gripping your cane and hovering

for a brief moment

before the storms set in.

LIFE’S MELODY

“I have found if you love life, life will love you back.”

—Arthur Rubenstein

I had a dream my father stood up, walked

out of his wheelchair into transience,

into life, into that vast Design like the patient

spider who spins silk ribbons as we listen

to Chopin’s nocturnes. And how did you

play them, Arthur? Did you not merge

with the music and disappear into the Divine?

And isn’t it time, Father, for all of us

to slip into our own surreal world,

which remains lost until we stand

up, push aside our chair, and reclaim it?

SHAPESHIFTING

We are walking on the oldest rock in the world.

Basalt. It’s part of the Canadian Shield, you said.

Striated black basalt formed from hot lava four billion

years ago, later tilting and shifting to the surface.

I hold your hand as we climb over wet stone

and migrate through sand. A bird sings

as the sun sizzles into Lake Superior. Earlier

we saw four snapping turtles laying eggs.

Golden waves spin a quilt of gossamer threads

as we sit on ancient rock and watch the sunset.

You tell me the L.A. Kings and the Devils are tied

in the Stanley Cup playoffs. I hold some rocks

in my hand—preserved, not fossilized. One

a perfect oval, one a trapezoid, another a hooded

figure, a wise shaman hovering over a drum,

or a Ku Klux Klan member carrying a stick.

Or perhaps it is an Indian chief bearing

robes and head dress, or maybe even

my father in his hospital gown, bending

down to pick up lost golf balls.

BECOMING ERUDITE

Long ago you told me your father

tried to hypnotize all four of his sons.

You didn’t remember much, except

you wanted to be smarter, and afterwards

you immediately began reading the dictionary

page by page, while your brothers laughed.

When it was trendy in the 1970s, you

sat us down one by one. I counted

slowly to one hundred. You told me

to close my eyes, but I remember

peeking at a blinking Christmas light.

Your voice was smooth, intoxicating,

like the vodka tonic on the side table.

We sat together for 10 or 15 minutes,

you feeling more confident despite

each sip, me drunk on the attention.

Now I spend quiet afternoons with you

in your wheelchair. The voices of Dan Rather

and Wolf Blitzer hypnotize us. Now and then

you close your eyes and I speak to you

in hushed tones, coffee in hand. You worry

about your finances as you grip the remote,

the panic of losing control aching into

each hour, each minute, each second.

YOUR LAST CHANCE

Out of the warm respite of cradling arms,

of childhood’s easy embrace,

down the corridor of doctor’s distant glow,

where worn leather black bag reveals

tools of experience and years of practice,

where each wrinkle shows smiles of promise,

and yesterday’s dreams drum out a heartbeat

of EKGs and good-byes, where laughing soaks your eyes,

and each handshake and kiss is a blue mosaic to aching—

your dreams fall back, your memories are what’s left,

the blackjack table now lies waiting as you

watch the dealer collect your folded hand.

You’re not pretending anymore, your chips are low.

You’ve reached the Velveteen Rabbit’s goal—

the moment of realness now is present as you

watch the sleek silver Santa Fe go barrelin...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• Sunsets
• I.
• II.
• III.
• Acknowledgments
• About the Author