I Dare You – Dorianne Laux

Its autumn, and we’re getting rid  of books, getting ready to retire,  to move some place smaller, more  manageable. We’re living in reverse,  age-proofing the new house, nothing  on the floors to trip over, no hindrances  to the slowed mechanisms of our bodies,  a small table for two. Our world is  shrinking, our closets mostly empty,  gone the tight skirts and dancing shoes,  the bells and whistles. Now, when  someone comes to visit and admires  our complete works of Shakespeare,  the hawk feather in the open dictionary,  the iron angel on a shelf, we say  take them. This is the most important  time of all, the age of divestment,  knowing what we leave behind is  like the fragrance of blossoming trees  that grows stronger after  you’ve passed them, breathing  them in for a moment before  breathing them out. An ordinary  Tuesday when one of you says  I dare you, and the other one  just laughs.

photo Rose Cook