(I would think,
watching my black-stockinged knees
appear in front of me
as I climbed.)
There should be sherpas
and glory,
admirers to celebrate my sister and I.
I remember my flat palm against the stone,
warm as a bird's breast
rough as burlap,
hard as any other thing that had always been
and would always be.
Today I can't recall
any sunrise in particular.
Lovers' names elude me like the love itself,
and months go by as hours did then.
How clear the memory of a hat's woven straw
or the smooth handle of a red umbrella.
How faint the sounds outside my window now.
What day is it? What difference
does it make?
Nothing disturbs me with yearning or surprise.
I recall we had dolls, trolleys,
skates, books,
and a million days ahead of us.
There was a doorbell,
a screen in summer time,
and always (of course!)
someone busy, and ours, inside.
______
for The Sunday Muse.
The wistfulness of those little girl smiles are well-captured here. Childhood is another country in our long travelogue, one where the snapshots are so vivid at first but that fade into bigger moments, which also in turn, fade. The second stanza is bright as gold,and I also love "...Nothing disturbs me with yearning or surprise.." because, unfortunately, it's become true, perhaps not all of the time, but too much. A sharp and sad sigh of an ekphrasis, Shay, just perfect in what it is.
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed the progression of life as remembered (imagining it's older sister's tale - as I am the oldest of three sisters) .. I imagine those steps feeling as steep as Mt. Everest .. a wonderful journey you shared with us.
ReplyDeleteI absolutely adore the journey of feeling and memory of childhood and what is now. This is so lovely and in a way gives me a sadness but mostly makes me appreciate the little things of life. Love this Shay!!
ReplyDeleteWhat day is it? What difference does it make? That is the way I feel right now. I remember those dolls, skates, books, etc. It did seem like there were a million days ahead of us, didn't there? And now there aren't............
ReplyDeleteWhat a sweet piece, Shay. As always, I bow down to you. This poem makes me wistful... and makes me remember.
ReplyDeleteThis is beautiful--it has that lovely half-sad, half-wonderful movement of the best memories.
ReplyDeleteAh, how I love this! I am glad I posted mine before reading it, or I would not have posted. You have written how I was feeling, but could not find words for. I especially love the unexpected sherpas, and the stone warm as a bird's breast. Sigh. Gorgeous. The screen door and someone busy indoors reminded me of my grandma.
ReplyDeleteThis is rich with mood and images. I wonder if we are cursed to live out the remainder of our days with only the food of memories to sustain our thoughts. I wish I had written this.
ReplyDeleteThe things we remember or don't remember :)
ReplyDelete"There should be sherpas / and glory" - God that is good. As is the beautiful second stanza, where the world becomes immediate, bringing us to ground from the abstraction and humor. But this: "hard as any other thing that had always been / and would always be", not sugar coating it.
ReplyDelete