A Simple Gesture
Need I say already
when so much time has passed,
when each passing moment
seems to take moments with it?
Sight and sound blurred
and muffled, impressions
that bring new meaning each time
my mind tries to repeat them.
Amentalio. The word would be
foreign to you, but I can imagine
your reaction to it, that gesture
not lost to me, yet. A shrug,
the slightest tilt of your head,
followed by a question.
How can you forget something
that is such a part of your soul?
This poem is my response to Poetics: The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, the prompt from Linda Lee Lyberg at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to use one of ten words taken from The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, by John Koenig. I had written a poem using one of John Koenig’s words when they were still available to be seen on his website. Since that source is no longer available, I definitely will be getting a copy of the book, so thank you to Linda for the heads up.
From The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows:
Amentalio: the sadness of realizing that you’re already forgetting sense memories of the departed- already struggling to hear their voice, picture the exact shade of their eyes, or call to mind the quirky little gestures you once knew by heart.
Love your quiet and gentle telling of this. Beautiful.
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Intriguing, Ken. Thank you for the perspective and a new word in my vocabulary, my grief. Something unexpected is happening lately – 3 times in the past month or so – I see someone mirroring my son in bodily appearance. It’s unsettling and yet a blessing – reinforcing my memory of little mannerisms I very likely will begin to forget. I’ve put these first three into writing!
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I’m sure he will always be in/on your mind. A bond that strong endures.
I was intrigued by The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows when it was used in a prompt for National Poetry Writing Month. It won’t be long before it’s on my shelf, now that it’s available as a book.
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Wow, Ken, your voice is soothing. I love your reading and words.
❤
David
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❤ Thank you, David. 🙂
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What a beautiful tribute! Is this your father? Your final question brings a tear to my eye.
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Thank you, Ingrid. Yes, my father. He’s been gone nearly 30 years, but every now and then something “minor” will come to mind, like that shrug.
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A very personal, heartfelt tribute, and the last lines really are powerful…
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Thank you, Ain. I think he’ll always stay fresh in my mind.
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There’s a satisfying circular argument to this one, the word becoming a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. So very tender.
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Thank you, Jane.
There are so many things about his past that I never asked him. I hope to retain all that I did learn.
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I think we all feel that way about parents and grandparents. We become interested in what made them, and what made us, when it’s too late to ask.
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One of your best Ken. Simply lovely.
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☺️ Thank you, Linda.
And thanks for the prompt.
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You’re welcome. 😊
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A poem for reflection. As Linda said, simply lovely.
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Thank you. 😀
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You’re welcome.
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Absolutely beautiful, Ken!
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Thank you, Barb. 😀
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Poignant. (K)
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Thank you.
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This is incredibly deep and poignant, Ken. I loved hearing you read it 💝💝
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🙂 Thank you, Sanaa.
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I think that some things will never fade… and I am sure you see more and more of him every day…
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That is so true,
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I love this piece, Ken, and your reading was killer. So many family members and friends gone on ahead of us, but having loved or known them enriched our lives and further shaped our world view. Nice work, sir.
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Thank you kindly, Glenn.
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Thanks for touching my heart and memory with your recorded poem, Ken!
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❤
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how indeed. and yet, we do. ~
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Sigh.
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It happens. And we can all relate to that.
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