Saturday, November 17, 2018

Saying Goodbye


Saying Goodbye

I've learned how  to cry
after fifty-three years,
to find hope in the catch of my throat.

Used to rein them in,
deny them due course;

embrace as purification.

Love swells, expands,
with time bubbles into laughter
and stories reminisced,

occasional tear traces curve of cheek
which with fingertip
I collect

and press to my lips.

by Margaret Bednar, November 17, 2018

Rest in Peace, Grandpa Bednar.  My father-in-law passed away early this morning - on the same day his beloved mother died.  I like to think she was calling her dear son home.

Here is a place I could easily ponder hope and replenish my soul:

Thursday, November 15, 2018

If You Forget Me

If You Forget Me

I remember the first glimpse of you,
how you rocked the tank top,
arms strong and sexy.
You wore tight jeans (that didn't go unnoticed)
yet it was your hands that captured me:
elegant and strong, politely expressive (holding your beer)
nails carefully clipped,

and when I looked into your eyes,
I melted.  The bon-fire before us flickered
and I blamed my flush on the flames.
I remember the excitement of that night,
your interest in ... me, and I, not exactly a romantic
(I'm far too practical) felt like a princess.

I hold dear your opinion, as fine men
are to be treasured.  Our years filled
with six children and (according to you)
far to many animals.

My fondest wish to grow old together,
enjoy the fruits of our labor,
watch you learn how to relax,
read something other than medical journals

and if dementia raises its ugly head,
if you forget me, rest assured
I will hold your hand, live on memories,
continue to love and care for you,
(as you would for me) my dear, sweet prince.

by Margaret Bednar, November 11, 2018

I already know what my husband's reaction will be.  He will roll his eyes and shake his head - he doesn't do sappy very well and I don't do love poems very well.  But it is all true ;) 

*  I did read this to him and HE said it wasn't a bon-fire but a beer keg.  Hmmm.   I'm not so sure.  Anyway, it's more poetic with a fire :)

linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads' - Sanaa's Challenge - All in November's Soaking Mist" -  Our frame of reference is the title of Neruda's poem.