Memory, Still

Memory Still

“I am in my mother’s room.”
                    Samuel Beckett, Molloy

Stained glass, radiant with hummingbirds,
this light was long a fixture in her dining room
as it cast its many-colored rays onto the walls
and a golden glow across many a holiday
dinner of homemade dishes and desserts
served with love and family laughter.

One of the few traces of her life left
in this world, as a reminder of those days
it now hangs in the corner of a bedroom,
spare with just a repurposed child’s dresser
filled with clothing that waits to be sorted
for donation and a bed of far too few nights.

My home was her home, independence
the price of failing health, and displacement
was a tax she shouldered with sadness.
The hummingbirds often stayed lit,
their brilliance a reminder of better days,
however brief her days with me would be.

This light will not be dimmed forever.
Her granddaughter shares a fondness
for hummingbirds. One day, their glow
will grace her home, a welcome addition
to a family sure to be filled with happiness
and a reminder of one who is held so dear.

This poem is my response to Poetics: Opening Sentences of Famous Novels, the prompt from Linda Lee Lyberg at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to use one of twelve sentences provided. I have chosen “I am in my mother’s room” from Molloy, by Samuel Beckett, published in 1951.

27 thoughts on “Memory, Still

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