“We can only be said to be alive in those moments
when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.” – Thornton Wilder
Thanksgiving is more than a time for gathering with family and friends, it’s a time for giving thanks.
It’s a time for remembering. And for expressing gratitude.
I have much to be thankful for this holiday season, especially related to my writing, my friends, and my family. Unfortunately, I’m battling a little vertigo at the moment which makes it difficult for me to look at my computer, which means there’s something for you to be thankful for – a short blog post.
I’m working on a post about family and friends and how they influence our stories, but I’ll save that for next week.
As a result, below you’ll find the very first poem I ever had published in a print journal.
The poem was written as a tribute to a very special friend of mine (it was because of her, after all, that I decided to chase my dream of being a writer in the first place). The poem was also written in honor of family members who came before me and who had grown so old they’d started to run into problems with their memories.
They’d started to forget.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Thank you for reading these posts and for being part of my journey. It means more than you know. It’s something I won’t forget!
I remember things. You
forget. Years. When you were my mother.
Pulling sister’s easy bake oven from the dark
garage. Could you tell
it would come to this? Last winter.
We thought we had lost you.
But you turned up, skipping
stones against the river’s thawed skin.
Months. Your slipping
into the girl
who came before you.
Neither of us knowing
where she’d been. This morning.
Beneath the willow
we planted. You.
Squatting in your underwear. Eating
mud pies. The t-shirt’s cotton
sleeve. Daubing the tips
of your smile. Smudging what was left,
as if it were the last
hint. That you had ever been.
But, you forget, I remember things.
(first published in RUNES)