Through the open window
she hears birds singing,
wind chimes twirl in the breeze.
This old house has held her together,
she hears birds singing,
wind chimes twirl in the breeze.
This old house has held her together,
body and soul, for 48 years,
every room a testament to the family
who lived here with her. They made
this house their home, together.
The movers have packed up the memories.
Great-Grandma's china, boxes of books,
a rocking chair and a rocking horse,
sentimental keepsakes, old love letters
and report cards, cardboard boxes
filled with toys, Christmas decorations,
milk glass vases, lamps, attic dust.
Everywhere she looks reminds her;
she replays a thousand memories in her head.
The moment she's been dreading arrives.
Time to leave. Somehow, she walks
out the front door, down the sidewalk,
won't turn around until she gets to the car.
Everywhere she looks are reminders of her life.
Bringing her babies home from the hospital.
Watching them grow up, birthdays and
family celebrations, picnics and graduations,
a wedding, the arrival of granddaughters.
So much joy was packed into this house.
Sadness too, but today the saddest of all.
Bittersweet memories overwhelm her
in a flood of heart-broken tears,
she wipes them away with the tail of her shirt,
gets in the car, and closes the door.
Packing often involves categorizing items into what to keep, donate, sell, or throw away.
"purging" act to start a new life.
Packing up "detritus" (accumulated belongings, clutter, or remnants of the past) is described as an exhausting and emotional process, particularly when it involves letting go of the physical reminders of a life.
2 comments:
Sorry Marianne, could have sworn I left a comment this morning. Obviously the age thing is happening. I like your poem, how memory connects in sometimes weird ways, at other times so direct it can take your breath away. The solid images of things can open form pathways to emotions and yes it can definitely feel like film winding before ones eyes. I also like the movement of your poem, from inner to outer, personal to public. Which again, only emphasizes the movement of memory itself.
Elizabeth
https://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/2019/04/08/the-little-seed/
Marianne,
I love the details in this poem. Nicely done.
Love,
Pamela
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