I once thought it was the separation
of distance that magnifies
this richness I find in family.
Now I understand it is age,
with reflections on the past
replaced by a wistfulness
for future lives I will never know,
as they continue without me.
This is my response for Quadrille #80 – Eat the Rich, the prompt from Kim at dVerse, which is to use the word rich in a 44-word poem that does not require meter or rhyme.
I see it daily, that rent along a cedar branch waiting to fall forty feet to the ground. Months have passed since a heavy snow tore the limb from its roots, a cardinal that frequents it a reminder that life goes on. There it hangs, framed in a pane above my laptop, waiting for me to write something, like tearing down the ghost of a memory of nothing good, long out of sight and begging to just let it die.
releasing the past
resolutely moving on
without looking back
(Isn’t that an odd word for the solution
that ended our original solution
of lifelong companionship?)
I found a box of papers
I had not troubled to sort.
Nothing of consequence in a summons for jury duty.
Nothing of importance in a nine-year old tax return.
Nothing of significance in a lab report.
Nothing done in a To Do list.
Nothing of merit in a receipt for an oil and lube.
Nothing to write home about in a love poem.
Nothing left to buy in a grocery list.
Nothing of good taste in an ad for home décor.
Nothing of value in a quit claim deed.
Nothing to our credit in a bank statement.
Nothing about a bad connection in a cable bill.
Nothing to show for an expired warranty.
Nothing in the eyes of two people posing
for a vacation photo that hinted at the final solution.
Nothing that lasts forever.
And mine was adrift.
Nearly deflated, its only strength
the loving tendrils of hearts
venturing on their own,
where does a heart go,
where does it look
when it has been untethered?
Did I know that I would see
another heart as adrift as mine,
or that mine would be seen as well?
Who could know these hearts
would find happiness and be joined?
This heart still feels the loving touch
of those distant tendrils,
yet finds love in its new home.
This is my response to the NaPoWriMo.net Day 11 prompt, which is to write a poem of origin. And having come from there, where are we now? … My children are always central to me, but when I found myself recently-single, and they on their own, my heart knew what it wanted. That meant a long distance move, but we are always in touch, and my heart is happy.