.
Senior Village
The ambulances come and go.
Last night it was the man across
The hall, whom I’d begun to know.
Another friend, another loss.
__I never know,
From day to day, who I will see
Driven away. They come and go—
The red-lighted emergency
Vehicles. It’s sad—although,
__Realistically,
We must expect these things; someone
Moves in, and someone else—unable
With weakened legs to walk alone,
Or mind becoming more unstable—
__Moves out, is gone
To family, or nursing care.
New neighbors come, and then they go.
I had a friend who played guitar.
They took him several days ago.
__But long before
I’d watched them wheel him to the door,
He hadn’t been the same man who
Had talked and sung and strummed. And now
He doesn’t know me any more.
__Folks come, then go.
My next-door neighbor moved last week
To the assisted living section.
Last year she made my birthday cake.
Today, her ominous complexion
__Warns she is weak.
The piano lady who would play
Each Friday afternoon, fell ill;
An ambulance took her away.
And we all know that someone will,
__Any day,
Take a freedom-ending fall.
A siren always lets us know,
Then paramedics crowd the hall.
The ambulances come and go.
__The hospital
Gets business from us frequently,
As do the local funeral
Parlors. If my memory
Serves, this month I went to three
__Memorial
Services. And who knows who
(And when?) will be the next to go?
In this enfeebling milieu—
This “golden years” captivity
__Scenario
(Unheard of till longevity
Became a booming industry)—
Life’s much too slow.
I wouldn’t mind if it were me
__To disappear
Before I’m placed in memory care.
I’m saddened by my own reflection.
This time of life we’re passing through
Makes pretty boring conversation;
It seems there’s nothing much to do—
__Take medication,
Eat meals. Events are medical
Appointments; not much else to tell
About. Our lives are simply dull.
We smile and say, “Have you been well?”
Truly, we feel
__Miserable.
At this point, friends are all one wants;
What else is left? My friend who played
Cards with me, listened—what I said,
He heard, and understood. But since
__The ambulance
Came for him, I’d only see
Him half-asleep, occasionally.
There were no more significant
Discussions. He could not reply.
__A permanent
Silence walled him in; he faded
Into the dark I, too, can feel
Where death, and nightmares, are what’s real;
Where we, the living, are degraded.
__In this shaded
Place, time taunts. What’s worse—to watch
Friends laid inside the vehicle,
Confined behind its metal latch
At unrelenting intervals—
Or join the certain curtain call?
I hope it soon will be my turn
To go away and not return.
.
.
Cynthia Erlandson is a poet and fitness professional living in Michigan. Her third collection of poems, Foundations of the Cross and Other Bible Stories, was released in July, 2024 by Wipf and Stock Publishers. Her other collections are These Holy Mysteries and Notes on Time. Her poems have also appeared in First Things, Modern Age, The North American Anglican, The Orchards Poetry Review, The Book of Common Praise hymnal, The Catholic Poetry Room, and elsewhere.
This is an absolutely awesome poem, Cynthia, full of poignancy and melancholy, and so close to home, having seen my grandmother and mother go through the care home system.
There are some heartbreaking lines and phrases, too: ‘a freedom-ending fall, ‘“golden years” captivity, and ‘Where we, the living, are degraded / In this shaded / Place, time taunts’, are just three.
This is another of those poems that catches an aspect of mid-twentieth century living in a raw, no-holds-barred way.
Thanks for the read.
‘mid-twentieth century’!?
Seems I’m projecting forward. By then I imagine we’ll have robotic entities looking after us rather than flesh-and-blood humans.
I read this article in May, Cynthia. Your poem expresses many of Kieth Herdman’s observations.
https://www.telegraph.co.uk/family/grandparents/bored-in-care-home/
There’s also a section in All Quiet on the Western Front, where the MC, Paul, is in hospital and there are many heart-wrenching comings and goings.
Once again, thanks for such a smashing, thought-provoking poem, Cynthia.
Thank you for your very kind comments, Paul. So many of us have seen our parents or other close relatives live in this depressing situation. I’ve seen the situation, and observed it as melancholic, so I’m glad that you felt that the poem portrays that melancholy.
You have expressed very well and accurately the downsides to aging that most people eventually experience.
Yes, Margaret — thank you. It seems all we can do is spend time with those in these living situations, and hope that, somehow, our lives come to a less depressing end.
Very well done, Cynthia. The varied rhyme scheme and the use of first person are perfect for this poem.
Thank you, Mary. It came naturally to imagine myself in my parents’ place.
I am amazed by the real-life perceptions and apprehensions expressed in your fascinatingly rhymed poem. I have gone through this with my parents, relatives, and friends and know that I am approaching that age and that situation with trepidation. Somehow, I think that new friends and continuing caretakers are better than robots. Some places are better staffed and equipped to soothe and provide the care needed, so selection in advance would seem to be an imperative. In the old days, children were expected to provide such care for senior citizens as best they could, but somehow, I feel that selecting the right place is a far better outcome. I believe you are much younger, yet seem to have been associated with such places, since you write with so much authenticity.
Thank you for your comments, Roy, and for assuming (probably mistakenly) that I am much younger than you are. My observations are, as I mentioned to Mary, from my parents’ senior village, specifically my dad’s frequent mentioning of the ambulances. It’s a good place, as those places go; but there’s no avoiding the events of aging.
A well-written poem on a subject that many, if not most people, would rather not think about. I used to work at a nursing home, so I saw a lot of what you describe and then some: an elderly lady clutching a doll; another repeating words over and over; patients in vegetative states; completely dependent on others for their care.
Thanks, Cheryl, I’ve dreaded nursing homes ever since I volunteered in one briefly in high school.
This is such a moving sad poem. You have expressed the dull monotony of the time so well. The breaks and pauses in each verse reflect the hesitant speech that becomes so much a part of one’s life after a certain age. Thank you for making me stop and think.
You’re certainly welcome, Rohini. I’m glad you found it moving. I think it was somewhat therapeutic for me to write it.
The overall mood of this poem seems to be resignation. Is there any “rage, rage against the dying of the light” to be found amongst the aging? Any resolute determination to finish well? I’m not sure how to read this poem, which is so well composed. I’m hoping that, as a fitness professional, you’re trying to get us to reject this attitude and resolve to live each day more fruitfully than the one before. I think many older people do feel like this, like, “It’ll be my turn soon, and that’s OK.” But while they live they still have something to offer, as we all will when we reach that stage of life. I’m challenged by this poem, and I thank you that.
I appreciate your compliments on the composition of the poem, T.M., and your thoughts about the topic. Your word “resignation” is interesting. I am a senior fitness specialist, and love my work helping people stay healthy as long as possible. At some point, though, things become beyond our control. You’re right, of course, that we should all continue to offer whatever it is we have to offer to others. My 91-year-old dad has always been a runner, and still does some running to keep himself able to be useful to others, and does help others often. He does, however, still notice the ambulances, which make for a rather dreary atmosphere to live in.
Cynthia, your echoes of T. S. Eliot’s “Prufrock” and your attention to the nature of time passing in this environment make this poem extraordinary. If this brief comment posts, I’ll have more, but there seem to be technical difficulties.
The Eliot echoes are not just the “come and go” repetitions, but punchy phrases recalling his ability to capture aspects in a few choice words. Examples here include “freedom-ending fall” and “enfeebling milieu” and “longevity became a booming industry.” The last has added significance because many of those in care facilities at present are “Boomers,” once contributing to the postwar “baby boom.” Emotion in this poem is as strong as, if not quite so passionate as in your “Worse than Widowed” published last year. Here friendship is both the only consolation and an ever-new source of grief to the elderly in a group living situation. They have a skillful and sympathetic scribe in you.
Margaret, thank you! I’m thrilled that you would compare me to Eliot. This is an example of one of the strange incidences when the poet isn’t aware of what she’s doing; believe it or not, I was not consciously thinking of Prufrock when I wrote this, though I’m sure you must be right that it was ringing in my head subconsciously. Also, the “Boomers” pun you have discovered was something I had not consciously intended (even though I am one!) I’m also overwhelmed that you recalled “Worse than Widowed”. I’m so glad that you saw my portrayal as sympathetic. Many thanks!
Dear Cynthia,
One might think that the meanderings of the mind of someone in a senior setting might not be well suited for “the confinement” of classical verse, yet here you have done it fantastically. I think your use of enjambment makes it all the more realistic.
The day to day pains and terrors of the institutionalized are communicated in what seems to me to be a stoic tone, common for those with many years of life and learning behind them. At the same time you manage to bring out the greater ethical issue of longevity being an industry.
You have put to words what is the worst nightmare of many of us as we age but perhaps are afraid to put into words. Thank you for doing so in such a clever and memorable way.
Gigi
Thank you for your very kind comments, Gigi! I’m glad classical poetry can be made appropriate for many subject matters. Yes, I do believe that longevity is overrated.
This was very moving and hits very close to home for our family. We’re on our second close family member who is going through exactly what you describe. If he was as eloquent as you, this is exactly what he would have said.
Thank you, Warren, I’m glad you think that the poem expressed the reality of what many people have gone through and are still going through.
Beautiful, Cynthia, beautiful and sad. The stream of short verses and plainness of the narrative voice subtly evoke the flattening of time that occurs in such places and creates a screen onto which the reader’s own memories and feelings can, perhaps unwittingly, be projected. (For me: my Irish grandmother when I was very young; an aunt with Alzheimer’s; any number of people I’ve brought Communion to…). Thanks so much for using your extraordinary talent to bring us to a space we’d otherwise rather not visit–and to keep us there long enough to sense its sad but strange beauty.
Many thanks, Jeffrey. It’s hard to really think about these things, or be in one of these spaces. I guess writing about it is in some sense therapeutic. It’s very strange how often in this world sad things are, in some nonsensical sort of sense, beautiful. (I’ve most often preferred to read sad novels, as well.)
Happily, I am not yet consigned to assisted living, but my old friends are dying one by one. I hope not to be the last to go because that sounds very lonely. This poem is a bit depressing, but, as they say about getting old, the best part of it is that you are still alive, and the saving grace is getting to see the faces of one’s grandchildren. Writing poems is much better than hearing the wail of ambulances.
Cynthia,
This alternative model is not necessarily right for all seniors. But perhaps it might be something for your parents to consider. The following link leads to a video about a combined nursing home and day care centre: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sJ6WtLV00H8
There is so much about society that is segregated, and thus out of touch with reality. To be a specialist is generally “not to see the forest for the trees.” It is only a holistic approach that is well-rounded. It isn’t normal for our elders and children to be isolated from each other.
From Lannie.
Thank you for the link, Lannie. That looks like a great idea.
Cynthia, your heartrending and beautifully written poem digs to the rotten core of what awaits many in old age. Instead of being celebrated for their wisdom and their achievements in life, the elderly are often thought of as a burden and carted off to homes to wait for the Grim Reaper to wield his scythe and bring an end to the callous tedium imposed upon them. Your closing couplet brought tears to my eyes – this should not be.
Your poem reminds me of a quote by Pearl Buck: “… the test of a civilization is the way that it cares for its helpless members.” – the Western world has an awful lot to answer for these days and your words say just that with clarity, concern, and creative flair. Thank you!