Memory is an Old Door that Sticks but Always Opens,

 Photo Credit

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse #187

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“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”   ~Maya Angelou

 

I have forgotten many things

The name of my teacher in third grade

How many cracks were on the ceiling above my childhood bed

All the algebra formulas that I never needed

How I got to my friend’s house in North Texas in 1993

Why I wrote scribbles on the wall in lipstick when I was 3

The exact time I decided I wanted my first divorce

When my left knee started aching

Why my mother slammed the door for the hundredth time

Where I left my key that you wanted back

What my aunt was wearing the day she said goodbye

Where I set my glasses five minutes ago

But I will always remember

what my heart cannot forget.

Proof of Our Travels

 

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 156 hosted this week by the incredible talent Shay!

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“It is not down in any map; true places never are.”  ~ Herman Melville

I am the daughters and the sons

the inheritance you did not expect

and the one your eyes will never see

I am the hole in the knee of your favorite jeans

flowers blooming that killed your back to plant in the spring

I am the late-night poems

the ones you did not know you could write

the true love you never spoke of

I am the callus hands of regret

the scars from splintered decks and wayward falls

the weight of cares that you have gotten good at holding

and then even better at trying to hide

I am the lines around the mouth and eyes

going different directions like roads on a map

the perilous journey of a westward expanse

the kind that leaves it’s mark on every pioneer

lines of a poem upon your face

I speak truth through silence

the kind that even a blind man could truly see.

 

 

 

 

Time Is A Fast Train

The Mag #185

 

"Sometimes I feel that life is passing me by, not slowly either, but with ropes of steam and spark-spattered wheels and a hoarse roar of power or terror.  It's passing, yet I'm the one who's doing all the moving." 

 ~Martin Amis, Money

 

 

 

When we were children the world was at our service

and life was a large menu before our eyes.

All the choices were a wonderful entre
and each dish we wanted to try.

Every day was like a train ride
that seemed to move too slow,

Yet with time it gained momentum
and faster and faster it did go.

The places that pass fly faster
like migrant birds in flight.

Everyday seems to grow shorter
as life's chores increase in size.

In time we are all grown up
and the tables seem to turn,

like smoke from the steam engine
where the coals char and burn.

Then the world becomes our master
and we provide it our best seat,

and life's menu gets smaller
that we need glasses to try and read.

For time is a fast moving train
and the conductor we are not.

So passenger of life take the provisions
and in return give it all you've got.

 

Too Busy Counting

Magpie Tales #32 with Willow

I never smelled the glory in the flowers,

for I was too busy counting the weeds.

I never heard the words of sincerity,

for I was too busy counting the schemes.

I never took in the breathtaking sunset,

for I was too busy counting the days.

I never noticed the detail in the quilt,

for I was too busy counting the frays.

I never saw the majesty in the night,

for I was too busy counting the stars.

I never accepted the beauty in myself,

for I was too busy counting the scars.

I never enjoyed holding the wonderful gift,

for I was too busy counting the cost.

I never appreciated all my many blessings,

for I was too busy counting all that was lost.