Sunday, June 14, 2009

Yesterday I thought endlessly of my elderly cousin who is now in her mid 80s. She talks about the past, her past, a lot, almost living there and it makes me sad. I can't define the sadness, if it is for her because she is stuck there, or if thinking that one day that could be me sitting there talking about the glory days of the past, my past, when I'm well into my 80 years of life. Anyway, I had to purge these thoughts out in this poem.

She gazes at her
Gnarled past sitting
On the table; quick glances
Is all she can take, steal;
She used to think of it
As a ribbon, stretched out, smooth,
Thrown carelessly onto
A surface, curves and
Elegant folds, twists
After decades now she
Sees rough knots curled
Onto one another
Zigzag roads end abruptly
Only to eventually begin again
Then just in another direction
Others long, drawn out
Then giving way to a different path
Knobby contorted choices made,
Decisions led back to its source


mademoisellechitchat said...

Thanks for visiting my blog and touching me with the words on this post.

Christina said...

This is beautiful! There is comfort in the past for some more than others. I am so glad you left your words here and expressed them, in such a gorgeous poem.

Lori said...

Thank you so much Christina!