there came a time
when memories flew
like leaves upon the wind
falling upon her quiet hours
~she plucked them, one by one ~
as over time they slowed, fading, almost gone,
she reaching for the last few
(ephemeral, drifting, elusive)
until they fell no more.
I tried my first puente for Marian's prompt at Real Toads - the middle line being a bridging thought for the two stanzas. Marian's example puente at Toads is spectacular! Ouch. I hope this poem is not prophetic. But my Grandma lived to be almost a hundred, with memories intact. We live in hope (not to live to a hundred, but to keep the memories.)
The wintering of memory... Such a painful image, in the end.
ReplyDeleteThis is simply beautiful. The way time softens the edges of memories, yes...
ReplyDeleteThat first one is simply outstanding!❤️ Love the image of leaves falling upon quiet hours.
ReplyDeleteOh , let's hope to live to a hundred too – with health strength and mental clarity! (Grin.)
ReplyDeleteBeautiful puente in any case.
A lovely poem Sherry. I like the elusive and fading memories of the second stanza. Let us hope we keep our memories until we are ancient.
ReplyDeleteThis makes me cry. It reminds me of my mother and how she lost my name to her disease.
ReplyDeleteOh, so emotional piece and tugs at the heart.
ReplyDeleteNice Puente, Marian. I dread when those leaves are diminished in their flying from trees in my garden. Sometimes I feel their slowing now.
ReplyDelete..
I like the feeding on memories as they sustain us, make our heart sing, make sense of our lives. I so hope I don't ever get dementia.
ReplyDeleteThe mood here is melancholy, but kind of accepting too.. the way you create the foreshadowing in the second half is very well done.
ReplyDeleteThis does tug at me... and well done with the form. I like the more atmospheric visual of the first pair with the specific hope/wish of the second, and well bridged. Gosh I hope to be 100 but as you say, only with my brain working and memories intact. xoxoxo
ReplyDeleteSigh. As I read your poem, Sherry, I know that I'll never reach 100 years old. Genetics and mortality tables tell me, this, being a transperson, we die sooner than our age cohort do.
ReplyDeleteI do wish, you can see the centennial mark, and share with Luna, your first-hand experience of the past century.
Sadness flows with the leaves in the beautiful poem Sherry, but it is lovely none the less. Hope all is well with you these days.
ReplyDeleteFound myself thinking of my Mother as I read your lovely poem ... her memories gone at the end.
ReplyDeleteIt's not the age, but the memories we keep.
ReplyDeleteSherry, this is brilliantly observed and penned ~
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