childhood days
upside down
reflections
Tag Archives: memories
We Talk
We talk about the way you build wooden boats with your hands,
and the way the sun shines off the water when we canoe across the lake.
And we talk about the snow in the winter and the way the snowflakes fall in the quiet.
We talk about the way that you rode an elephant in Thailand along the side of a cliff,
and the elephant put one foot in front of the other so he kept on the trail,
and the way I went dogsledding in Alaska, felt the dogs pull and heard the trees whisper blue.
We talk about the summers of sun, sand and waves, and how we grew with salt water in our veins. And we talk of our smiles and our failures and the lessons we learned, tomorrow’s plans
and time that we hold in the palm of our hands. We talk until the coffee grows cold and the night grows wings, until the words have words no more, but our eyes keep talking.
We don’t talk about your aneurysm that might kill you tonight, or tomorrow, and we don’t talk about my brain tumor that’s growing as we speak.
We don’t talk about it.
Weekly Photo Challenge – Nostalgia
riding the rails
turn of the century
wheels of remember
Weekly Photo Challenge: Change
memories
of time gone by
Rolls Royce reflections
Two Squares and a Circle
What ghosts follow when you track
back so far? Stone foundations,
full of your words, crumble and roll,
and the pine pieces, marked by knots
of pain and despair, age away in
forgetfulness. Is this a blessing,
when the holes appear, let light and cold
pass, allow locked in grievances to leave?
Or does it all remain anyway, underneath
the rusted metal roof – the hurts
that can’t be released, circling around
the structure as time takes it down?
There’s still a place to let it go –
two squares and a circle.
We Were So 19
We were so 19
that the world didn’t care if we slept
half the day, went to coffee with the professor
instead of class, and began the evening
just before midnight. The usual crowd
could be counted on to greet us warmly,
as we scrambled off the city sidewalks
swallowed by our college life. Beer, and
conversation, and the same familiar songs,
and we hugged and laughed and knew
19 would always be. But it’s not.
Someone else is borrowing 19 now.
Talking to the Clouds 