I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world,
to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.

18 July 2014

Temporary Return

The memory of Eddie
is here like a ghost
walking the white cement paths
of the Neighbourhood Centre,
or coming up the wooden steps
into the Sandbar Room
with his bag slung over his back,
letting it slip from his shoulder
and fishing his notebook out.

I must be a ghost here myself
most Fridays: a haunting
memory — to some. Already
there are new faces. Today,
filling in for Cheryl
who runs the writers’ group now,
I introduced myself
to someone who’d never met me,
although she had heard my name.

“Oh — you’re that Rosemary
they talk about,” she said,
then spoke of bringing her poems
to Cheryl for advice.
Which is as it should be ...
and it was good
to see the familiar,
yet strange to hear of projects
they hadn’t yet dreamed, before.

Nan’s hair is whiter. (So is mine.)
And gentle Marie has gone
with her beautiful words.
But we know she’ll be writing her journal
still, in her new home.
Eddie posts photos from Thailand,
looking happier than he ever was here.
And I nurture my own writing now.
It is well. I let the ghosts fade.

3 comments:

  1. What a lovely and nostalgic day!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Love this - we are all present to some and ghosts to others :)

    ReplyDelete