Collage by Margaret Bednar
Home
Why does time
play tricks?
Sister's hand held in mine;
seems like yesterday
dandelion wishes
sailing summer's breeze,
silly giggles.
Our mother's grown small;
time blinked
and my hands look like hers.
Firstborn held close,
seagulls and songbirds,
beachside and blue mountains,
sixth one mostly grown.
My knight's hair is grey,
yet I still see him
with the world's wonder
before him.
Swear I'm still
a barefoot girl
living horseback days
exploring fields, quarries,
and country lanes;
still a young mother,
babies and toddlers,
parks and zoos,
elephants and penguins,
bedtime stories,
cream puff cheeks.
A whispered prayer,
my Mother's voice,
no longer a phone call away.
How does all this
exist at once?
Click my heels,
find home
is not a place
but a feeling inside.
by Margaret Bednar, October 22, 2023
This is for "Poets and Story Tellers United - Friday Writings #99 Why". Trying to explore the complexity of memories and how time flies and how... time is slow and fast and the feelings that are jumbled inside me - seemingly sliding back and forth on the time scale, so to speak. I wrote this poem in a hurry - it doesn't quite flow the way I want it to - I did want it hopscotching about on the time line - but I will have to let this rest and revisit it again - winter is almost here and I need to get outside and enjoy the days we have left of Fall!
7 comments:
I love your poem! Mine is a bit of a nostalgia trip too, but yours is both happier and more comprehensive.
Feelings inside us are overrated. I've had feelings inside, I've had actual physical reality outside; reality's better. :-) This was a nice nostalgia trip up to the cognitive dissonance at the end. For me, memories are much more satisfactory when triggered by physical realities. So the poem calls up an experience I share and then slides away to one I don't share.
I think it's memory that plays tricks, for Time marches resolutely in one direction - forward! But ruminating can be a 'pass-time' that pleases. :-)
So many emotions bubbled up inside as I read your "Why" poem. Beyond stirring, I loved every word.
find home
is not a place
but a feeling inside.
Great close Marge! Comes a time when we rejoice just thinking of all the wonders of life we just went through.
Hank
What a beautiful poem, ....our soul is eternal....that's the only answer
"Click my heels,
find home
is not a place
but a feeling inside."
So true!
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