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Time and Windows

This poem is a reverie and contemplation of my mother.

Time and Windows

If the past is a tattered old book,

then why am I a ghost

at my mother's window,

so clear I can sense her mystery,

and her brown eyes, so alive?

 

Look, I can fly to her

through the high windows

of my memory

until I'm so close that she disappears,

and the curtain flutters silently.

 

A...

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bookflyghosthighmemorymysteryreverietatteredwindow

The book

From the first page to the last,

I absorbed the world around you.

I was there to witness the tears,

The anger,

The love.

 

Within each chapter I fell deeper.

As if under a spell, I lost control.

I was lost in another world,

Traveling to a place with no time.

 

I watched a story unfold before my eyes.

With each word,

Each sentence,

Each page,

I became ap...

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memorypagespellstory

Ancestral

Am I to speak for your past?

                May I?

                Should I intrude?

For I am the spectre of your years: I was there beside you

In your cot and at your play

Now

I am all that is left

                I am the breath of your childhood

                I am the oxygen of your life

                There is no limit to my presence in your life

             ...

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ancestorsgenetic memorymemoryrace memoryspectrewisdom

Quiet River

Quiet River

 

When the morning's flight

lifts the darkened blind,

and slows the speed of time,

be ready in your heart and mind

 

with gratitude, as you drift

on a sweet and quiet river,

lined by silent watchers;

remember their gifts, and the jewels

                           of the givers,

 

For that light is sure to glow

fierce and steady in your memory -

...

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common wealdrifteternityheartmemorymindmorning

A memory

Did you feel that stretch?

when time went soft,

expanding over us

 

How odd we should be here,

again

So different

yet the same

 

But you didn't feel that stretch,

when reality got bent in...

the bulging supple arc

connecting two spaces

across ages

 

So time hardened again

and the world washed over,

 

                swallowing me

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memorytime

Gave Me Up To Tears

Gave Me Up To Tears

 

"And all my mother came into mine eyes
And gave me up to tears."
— William Shakespeare, Henry V

 

The air tastes of mashed potatoes

When she looks into your eyes

And you look back at the fear and hurt

And she says she’s sorry for dragging you here

And you tell her it’s nothing

Even though you were complaining

That very same thing on the drive h...

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deathmemorymotherremembrancestroke

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