Things You Can Take

“You’ll be traveling light for a trip so long, Don’t you think?” asked the voice in my head. “As a matter of fact I’d prefer to prolong This departure forever.” I said. The conversation, though suitably cross, Was nevertheless polite And the gist of the urging was all but lost: No-one misses this flight. The choice to accept was anything but. (There was never a mention of choice) And the prospect to go was macabre, somewhat, For I couldn’t refute the voice. The hour is always inopportune, But with this I could be consoled: Some are scheduled to leave too soon. At least I was left to grow old. So I gathered my thoughts and composure Like piling leaves with a rake And struggled to strive for some closure By listing the things I would take. I had amassed a great many things In my eighty odd years as a hoarder But the rules were clear. No man brings Things across this border. And so I conceded to narrow it down To the stuff I knew I could stash And leave the rest to remain on the ground – The house and the car and the cash Because thought is decidedly warmer Than a body of cold dead matter. I gambled at least the former Would survive the demise of the latter. So I gathered each photo and letter Spreading memories out on the floor, And thought I would do one better While there was still time to make more. I spent what I had on my bride, And my time with my family and friends. I took my foes aside And, best as I could, made amends. For the love that you feel when you live Is the stuff of the memories you make. So give all the things you can give Because those are the things that you take.