ROBERT JOE STOUT
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ROBERT JOE STOUT The Widow Talks About Retirement, Lake Tahoe, NevadaYou'd wake up in the morning and the air Would be so crisp and clean you'd just stand there …Why not? Things moved real slow--or seemed to. Of course I knew that Joe would want his breakfast --Retirement to him meant doing lots of things Around the house and yard, planting shrubs Or hacking through old twisted roots To make a nicer parking place beneath the firs Or raking rocks of different colors that he'd found Into designs around the wellspring of the little stream Next door. We'd watch the squirrels sometimes. Joe fed them nuts and there was one Who'd come right up to stand on its hind legs And let Joe touch it with his fingers. And then the birds--we fed them too. One morning I woke up--I was right there In the kitchen making coffee-- And I looked out the little window And, Oh my gosh! There was a bear, Right there! "Hello!" I said. He tipped his head As if to say, Well, silly, I can't talk And rapped the pane with his huge paw Have a nice day! and went away. It was like that: Snow so deep in winter we'd just snuggle in the house, Then spring--it comes late here--water trickling Everywhere. Just down there, around the bend, We'd stop and gaze for hours at the ripples On the lake. That's what life was, you understand? 1976Construction crews in mobile homes. Chain saws' high and distant whine. Groans of heavy diesel trucks pulling the cut logs. From crest to swale ski runs taking shape.1977Gas station. Stores. A restaurant. Bulldozers flattening the shoreline trees. Tow trucks tugging city drivers out of gullies back onto the ice-glazed roads.1985FOR SALE signs at every cross road: A-frames, condos, mobile homes. Post office, Safeway, brand new grade school. Fast food drive-thrus everywhere.1991Cranes the height of Eiffel towers. Neon glitter through the firs. Tour buses grinding up the highways - four lanes wide, with stop lights, turn lanes, snow reports.1998Walks through town like trips to foreign countries: Signs in Spanish, Chinese faces, tall blonde models speaking Russian. A smoggy haze obscuring the lake's waves."You can't live here all by yourself!" That's what My daughters tell me every time they call Or write. "I do live here," I tell them back --Why should I move? They'd just left home When Joe and I came here--it's not where They grew up--and they have changed More than the town, the lake. Joe's buried Here--I bought a nice memorial stone-- And though I seldom leave the yard I still can feed the birds and squirrels. The lake? Truth is my eyes can't see That far--it's all just shades of gray. But in the morning, when I feel the breeze And smell the firs I face where it has always been And see blue water through green trees And snow so white it burns my mind.
Copyright 2006, all rights retained by the poet
