Firefly Healing, LLC

Posts tagged ‘memories’

Little Returns

Putting in moments of

parenting,  gains and losses

add up

 

The hours of chauffeuring

picking up and dropping off, rush

and wait, items left behind

 

Teaching them to help, playing

a long game, banking

against efficiency

 

Measuring days by

teeth lost, shoe size

and how quickly

they grow

 

This is it, childhood’s prime time

the real estate of life

 

Success, luxury, vanity, none

compare to the blessing

of kissing good night

my child, safe

 

For the richest memories, sweet

and surprising, the confidences told

between stories, you

had to invest

the time

At Play

Did they tell you

you must fight

to survive, take

to succeed, scheme

to win, your life

a pawn in a zero sum

world, and is that all

 

you know? You could

play a different game.

 

Do not fear

for your life

to mean nothing

for every word

you speak echoes

 

to others. We cannot help

but leave traces. We are

immortal in human

memories. What is

eternity anyway?

 

Or is it pleasure, creature

comfort you seek yet

what balm greater

than peace?

 

This is a strange kind

of abundance, giving

more emptying grows

you, a vessel

hollowed out by light

overflowing.

 

Come to the Forest to Visit Me

“Westonbirt Arboretum – Avenue of trees” Stuz (CC A-S A 3.0)

 

Come to the forest to visit me

Down by the roots of a tree

Waste not your tears on cold stone graves

Water a flower for me

 

Give me to the earth when my winter comes

Bury me deep in the ground

Mark not my place with statues or caves

Find me where life can be found

 

Come to the woods when autumn leaves turn

Golden and copper and red

Rustle up memories, seeds of joy stored

Kick up the leaves in my stead

 

Visit a garden on warm, summer days

Keep company with blossoms and bees

Remember my heart blooms forever in yours

Take comfort from shushing shade trees

 

Let springtime surround you with life and the living

Birdsong and budding green leaves

Look up at the sky, give thanks for sun and rain

When you think of me, smile more than grieve

 

Come to the forest to visit me

Down by the roots of a tree

Live every day that is given to you

Water a new flower for me

If You’re Looking

Public Domain. Zygmunt Gloger, circa 1900-1903.

 

Most of my tattoos are on the inside

Engravings of childhood stories, deep as a well

grooves of favorite songs that crackle with each echo

impressions of memories getting prettier as they fade

and of course, all the scars

 

I used to decorate myself

with notions and intentions, superstitions and pretensions

then truth finally came, burning

 

I look rather plain now

All the beauty got buried

It’s not skin-deep anymore, you know?

 

But all the things that tell my story are still here

You can see them

if you’re looking

in the right place

Projections

Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

 

Looking through my reflection in the bus window

trees falling away as the highway catches up

one stump in a tall grove draws my reverie.

Eventually I am arrived, uprooted from musings on whether my side table

because stranger things have happened

could be made from that displaced tree and then

aren’t we all connected in a vast network of unseen coincidences,

lonely me and lonely tree.

 

Standing in a dark tomb in Egypt

they show us how mirrors bring sunlight into the tunnels.

Itchy sweaty coconut sunblock cipro college class trip becomes suddenly

the newest audience.

It cannot be thousands of years since

my feet where the artist stood

my body memory projecting the brushstrokes

and I am still

with the hieroglyphics

as if they were my own.

 

Taking the pearl earrings from her shaky hands

because no one else wants them

and she will be dying in a couple of days

white hair, white sheets, white pearls.

If I mention the snow outside

I can bring in the brown and gray of the parking lot slush.

There I sat, with in-laws soon to be out once the papers are signed

her own daughter hasn’t talked to her in 40 years of widowhood

granddaughter either

and we both know these fake pearl earrings

are all I’ll have to remember her by but

I will.

Tag Cloud