Beneath the Past #poetry

sf houses golden gate

I touched a place

I hadn’t wandered in a year

my ten-year old me

painful memories so near

I meandered through a wood

it had been too long

I lay beneath the breeze

heard familiar old songs

I looked for a friend

gone too long ago

she reached out her hand

and took me in tow

I visited old people

they fit like a glove

“thanks” a small word

when they shower you with love

I touched a place

I hadn’t wandered many a year

I stood in old shoes

scar’s lessons – need not fear

shoes

 

Poets United Midweek Motif is prompting us to write about Recovery. There are so many forms of recovery. We can recover from physical ailments, addictions, or pain inflicted by others. What does recovery mean to you?

 

 

 

 

The Worst Part is the End #elderly

a wheelchair

“This is the worst part of my life” she moaned. “Everything is in the past, nothing is in the future. Why didn’t I invest in life with more vigor more passion?”

She is in the twilight years of her life. Not much more to do than eat, sleep, and shuffle. Hearing aids augment sounds but many words slip by her ears without cognition. “What will I do with what remains of me?” she screams in a hoarse whisper.

“I could have been a writer, I could have been a nurse, instead I did nothing. What was it all for?”

Oh the doubts and fears that can eclipse the thoughts of the elderly. Too late to remedy their wishes but never too late to bemoan what was lost.

“Give me your hand dear Madeline” (for that is the name I will give you today). “Let us take a walk down the primrose path of your memories. Let’s smell the sweet scent of youth – yes you can remember those familiar scents of yesteryear though your olfactory system no longer cooperates today.”

“What will we see down that path? A handsome young man in uniform. An officer – just going to war. Hold out your arm, wave goodbye, give him the apple of your eye. When he returns, some things will never be the same.”

“There just look down that overgrown walk. Let’s take a moment and stop. ”  A kind faced gentleman, his arm gracefully draped behind  his withered wife, stands next to the ivy laden gate.They were  her aunt and uncle. How proud was she to know such folks. She reflects –”they taught me so much during the Depression.”

Another lane, more clear to see, grown up children with babes running free. The meadow is open the sun is bright– these children represent Madeline’s years of light.

She starts to smile as she takes in the sun, the blue of the flowers, the sounds of children having fun. “There’s promise you see in a world that seemed small. You had a life –it was something after all.”

***

I have fictionalized this dialogue I had over and over with one of my in-home care patients. I loved the stories she could relay clearly of the past. So we would linger there: over her father’s Croix du guerre (from world war 1), old pictures of family, her husband’s extensive library…

In Candlelight… #yesterday #poetry #oldage

station clock

Time stands still for no man

and yet this night

with dear friends

anticipated for so long

I look at my reflection

in a bonfire of  candles

I pass my finger tip

through yesterday

there is that moment

a hush really

 a red ball that I got at 6

rolls past

the bell from my blue bike

rings “8 years today”

puka shells

circle sweet 16

the string breaks

scattering on the sands of time

remembered treasures

I held for a brief moment

and now this eve

where I momentarily hover

looking at a girl

full of dreams

grasping for a bit more

holding on to you

before you slip away

for the first and very last time

my sandy heart

Today’s prompt for Poet’s United Wednesday Motif we celebrate an Evening Out. This post was also inspired by a haiku that for whatever reason caused me to look over my shoulder at my younger self. What would we find there if we could look at younger eyes? Would those eyes gather strength or recoil at what we had become?

Life less #pain #love #poetry

“yes I feel it too”

I said to no one

in caged, abysmal loneliness

every foot -step echoed a cadenced

“no turning back”

“all is gone”

“where did love go?”

“was it ever?”

when he looked in my eyes

did he embrace another?

daily I flogged my heart

that I might feel

for numbness had become

my closest ally

(friends had all but fled)

“what if death became

my final offering?”

it would have been your moment of celebratory height

(you play the martyr well)

now through this pain  encased

I feel again

I raise my cracked crystal glass

(ironically a wedding present)

“YES -I will live!!!”

you will need to find victory

in another’s destruction

for my life is worth more than that alabaster vase

you purchased for my remains

“Beauty’s End” photograph copyright L. Moon 2012