Marc Swan, 10/12

Heartache that swirls the mind

When we speak those heart wrenching
words describing the passage of a loved one

in this case in this small intimate venue
she sings the songs written by this person

she holds so close to her heart and it seems
can never let go, it is a tribute in one sense

but creates a looming question in my mind.
Is a point reached where the memory

is not stashed away in the attic
or in that small utility room off the garage,

but merely put to bed in another room
in one’s head allowing a separation

that becomes its own force, a rejuvenation
of the spirit held flat but firm

for so many years? At that point would she
feel a renewal of will and drive to get on

with her life as I imagine the one she loved
so hard would surely want her to do.

 

 

In another time when the future was always now

I must be in California because here I sit
in a Ford Fusion on highway 280 heading
north then over the 92 pass to Half Moon Bay.
Memories like quicksilver—vibrant, alive in my
hands, in my mind, a flash then they disappear,
reappear like those tiny sparkling fish
I watched bob below the surface and up again
in a gurgling eddy beside a blue spruce
that offered no shade but created a backdrop
better than a Broadway stage. This time
no stage, no tiny sparkling fish just me in
a rental car driving back to a time when all I
knew seemed impossible to lose, a time so simple,
and when I reflect on those heady days, so pure
in its simplicity that I wonder how I was able
to let it all go, or did it drop me in a flash
of quicksilver—evaporation with no return.

 

 

 

Promote. Poetry.
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