I Want to Lay Down Pretense

I Want to Lay Down Pretense

(“And whoever does not carry their cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.” Luke 14:27)

I want to lay down pretense,
I want to carry nothing with me but the way
truth and love chase the shadows away.
I want to be the old man on the porch who
children come to see. I want to hear about the
new baby, the goal they made in soccer, their first crush,
their questions about leaves in the wind and branches that
break overnight next to their window.
I am too full of stories. I am I too many. I am lately
a receiver with no need to broadcast
what I have heard,
what I have learned,
what I think are the deepest concerns an
old man
should have.

I want to lay down attraction,
I want to exist like clouds pregnant with shade.
I want to listen to silence and let it be the only
healing I need.
I want to be the old man with his dog
who stops to speak to a woman bent with age,
clutching her cane,
carrying shopping bags that pull her closer to
the ground. I want to touch her sun-painted arm
spotted like bark and say something that makes her
feel lighter.

I do not want to fight for attention.

I want to be the white-haired man whose age is
still to be determined. Though mirrors do not lie (but
they do, those 2-dimensional scoundrels) I want the
humor of a teenager,
the wonder of a toddler,
and a day when, though nothing happens,
I find love is always enough to
fill my heart with one more breezy conversation.