Doors

To visit Melbourne

re-opens a door

on a life,

on a man –

your father, son.

Well, it would.

When I visit

I always stay

with you, dear,

and I remember….

He’s dead now.

It’s 23 years

since he went.

How on earth

can that be?

As for you,

suddenly you’re 50!

The blonde curls

of the boy

no longer exist.

The old doors

to the past

open and close.

We’re still here.
New doors open.

Linked to Weekend Mini Challenge: Doors at 'imaginary garden with real toads' and to The Poetry of Three on facebook.

Change and Light

As spirit animal, the dragonfly is connected to the symbolism of change and light. – Elena Harris: Dragonfly Spirit Animal and Totem

When she came to see him in the hospital 

when we knew he was dying, she said,

'On my way here I received a message.

I am to tell you to arrange with Rosemary

a sign, so that after you move

to a different dimension, whenever

you are with her, she will know. It might, 

for instance, be a butterfly.'

After she left, we talked and decided

butterflies are too common. I could easily

explain them away as not really

signifying. I had to be surer, so

we chose instead the dragonfly – 

seen in these parts, yes, but so rarely    

as to be significant. And it has been so – at first

those moments when I missed him most acutely.

Dragonflies would burst from a bush

right into my face, or land on the door of my car

just as I was about to open it, or skim across

a rocky pool ... always in immediate

response to my thought. Sometimes I would even

open a magazine straight to a picture.

Then, at a Sunday market in a strange town,

I found an antique mourning brooch.

It is crafted from woven hair, in the shape

of a dragonfly with all four wings outspread.

I took it to mean he is always with me, 

or can be any time I choose to bring him present.

I wear it seldom now. My need is less. Assured

that he is close, I can live without reminders. (Only

sometimes, still, if I have a moment of sadness,

a living dragonfly appears from nowhere, and I know.)

Written in response to Bits of Inspiration ~ Dragonfly at 'imaginary garden with real toads'.

With Great Anticipation

I will come and join you

at the end of the week

and then we’ll catch up

and I’ll find out

what’s been going on with you

since our last encounter –

and that will be good, but

even more I want to know

what will happen next,

your future, how you will

navigate your crises

at work and home, and whether

you ever will meet that great love

we're all waiting for,

to whom you have come so close 

it seemed, once or twice,
only to discover

that Whoever decides these things 
had other plans,

such as death, betrayal ...

which of course

keeps you on our screens

week after week

as we agonise with you

and watch you grow,

both longing for and dreading

the final dénouement.

Women's Craft Circle

They are making ‘soft blossoms’

from pieces of fabric

that used to be clothes –

hot pink, shiny blue, 

variegated browns,

pale green, warm orange –

cutting them in circles

traced around cups,

then threading cotton 

on fine needles, running it

in and out around the edge

and drawing it tight.

As they work, they talk

about growing trees,

keeping chickens,

and whether they like

being addressed collectively

as 'you guys’ (not ‘you women’).

They are making soft blossoms

to decorate the rims of buttons,

attach to hair clips, 

dot around belts,

edge the pockets of shorts,

adorn the frills of skirts.

Brooke is smiling wide,

demonstrating ways 

to make them tiny like daisies 

or full and bulbous; how to leave 

enough thread at start and end

to knot them off, complete.

The tip of Kymmie's tongue 

is held between her lips.

(I do that too

in concentration.)

Bronny is showing us

photos of her drawings.

Suzie is holding up

her first circlet of flowers.

She thinks it's clumsy (it's not). 

Everyone notices, also, and craves

her necklace of iridescent blue

glass that she treated and fired.

Me, I’m making a poem

of what I see, which is:

intent or laughing,

open or focused,

all of their faces 

are soft blossoms.

Shared with Poets United's Poetry Pantry #385