I saw your billboard today – the one you signed, 
the one that said:  Life is short. 
Eternity isn’t.  
God
 
I wondered about your punctuation, why you created two 
stand-alone sentences.  I would have used a semicolon 
because it seems more powerful to connect the two –
you know, like dying may seem scary on its own 
but if you think this short life is like a day in the park compared
to what comes next, the threat of eternity really picks up some steam.  
I’m sorry – it’s presumptuous of me to instruct You on punctuation 
but I feel more and more presumptuous these days.  It could be eternity
but I think it’s really just another day looming like the next  eight or 10 hours 
and all it will take to make my way through.  I’m tired, 
you know?  You must know.  Have you ever considered 
reincarnation – how nice it might be to have a good long rest as a tree, rooted 
in earth but able to rustle and sway?  It sounds pretty great to me.  
The thing is, I’m not clear about your whole eternity plan.  Keeping people out –
that part feels familiar – it’s pretty much the way things work around here too.  
But have you ever considered just letting us all in – every single person 
you made no matter what our short lives offered 
or withheld?  I don’t know.  It is lovely to think about
though.  I like to picture you pondering it; (semicolon) 
I like to picture you considering the possibility of another way.
 

You’re a nickel 
of a thing, same
color,you fling
yourself akimbo and not
like a frog at all.
You’re a child
no matterhow old,
you heedless bit, 
squashable from lack 
of consideration 
for stomp, 
you and your 
careless gaze.  
No grace, no reason,
all go.  Plaintive peanut
of perpetual resound.
You common 
implausibility, 
intimate
with ground.
Water born
lung breatheryou
too small to be called 
quitswhen come
what may.  You’re hope
looking down, every kind 
of possibility
unbound.
 

Leaving Home at 83

by Sandra Butler

    Leaving Home at 83 is an intensely personal story yet one shared with thousands of aging women who are wondering whether to move closer to their children and leave their friendships behind or stay in their communities. Readers will see their own questions on these pages and recognize their own fears, insecurities, and uncertainties. Butler examines the often-unspoken struggle to sustain our autonomy as we age and our conflicted longing for dependency as we become more vulnerable. Both longings are embedded in the desire not to be a burden to those we love. With its sharp humor and refreshing honesty, this wry account brings a welcome and necessary perspective to the inevitable moment when we end one chapter of our lives and begin whatever comes next. “...The ensemble of characters is hilarious, jaw-clenching, at times worthy of a Jack Russell Terrier head tilt. Butler’s writing is tender, funny and unequivocally relatable.” —Karen Lee Erlichman, D.Min, LCSW, psychotherapist, spiritual director, writer and mentor. Available from Amazon and at www.sandrabutler.net.

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