You are waiting
for the sun,
the ways it rises
again and again.
These days, time is the matter
on your mind.
You forget too much.
I hope you’d never need
to be bravest
as memory falls away.
You leave a part
of the house empty,
opening
every door.
4 comments:
This poem really spoke to me and where I am in my life right now. It also connected kind of spookily with one I've been writing myself.
Always good to read your work Jill.
moon
thanks moon. i'm glad it means something to you. sometimes i really don't know what people will get out of my poems.
Do you read Sam of Ten Thousand Things's blog? He's lately ben posting poems he loves and the last few posts have been haikus and reading your work here reminds me of the haikus I've been reading on his blog.
I like how this approaches the loss of memory, an event dreaded by loved ones and family members when faced with the reality of Alzheimers or old age: Quietly and without the usual aching sentimental wailing.
It's perfect, really, this little poem. Waiting for the sun, the one daily event that is reliable, that never changes,--yet, even the sun fails to rise from time to time.
Ah, I'm not making any sense.
Just wanted to tell you that this poem of your wrecked me a little bit tonight. I keep holding my breath around my mother when she forgets this or that or repeats this or that. I don't want to be her memory.
The last four lines are...sublime.
Jill, as always, it is eye-opening to read you.
thanks laurel. i'm glad this poem comes across to you. i know the feeling of being around people who forget things. My dad is losing his memory and to him things repeat..he sometimes literally opens a door again and again. thanks for your comments laurel. always appreciate it.
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