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.
New doors open.
Linked to Weekend Mini Challenge: Doors at 'imaginary garden with real toads' and to The Poetry of Three on facebook.
Wonderful piem, letting us get a peek into your past. I like the conversation with your son - from the blonde curls to him being fifty. I like all of this - so tender and so true.
ReplyDeleteMy son, too, just turned 50. We marvel. I so love this poem, my friend.
ReplyDeleteHow quickly time passes when a loved one dies and all those things you would have shared with them you cannot. How I wish that my wife could have seen her granddaughter grow up and that hurts a lot as she loved her so much.
ReplyDeleteReally like how you use the door as a path to memories... and to get to know about your family... 50 is an important age to pass.
ReplyDeleteThis is absolutely gorgeously written, Rosemary💕 I can feel the emotions as they swirl with the memories in this poem.. poignant.. and incredibly raw.💕
ReplyDeleteThe medieval book of memory was a system of memorization using the grand metaphor of a large building whose storerooms where accessed by doors. You open this one onto a past which has been lost and yet richly informs present blooming. Great stuff.
ReplyDeleteI love the tender touch of your words Rosemary and I too wonder how the passage of time races so quickly.
ReplyDeleteYes, old doors open and close, releasing or keeping tight our memories, as new doors open towards new experiences...
Anna :o]
Profound doorway through time...both ways. Brilliant stuff.
ReplyDeleteSome doors bring a mix of emotions. Some places carry the heavy scent of memory. Seeing your son and who he has grown into has to fill you with pride and happiness, while in the same instance loss nips at the edges.
ReplyDeleteThe past is rather enchanting at times and can get us stuck there. We have to keep looking to those new doors, keep moving forward. Keep living.
I love this conversation with your son, Sherry, and a glimpse of your life, especially:
ReplyDelete'As for you,
suddenly you’re 50!
The blonde curls
of the boy
no longer exist'.
My daughter will be 37 on Wednesday and it is shocking how time whizzes past, leaving us gasping in the slipstream.
Please forgive me, Rosemary, I had seen Sherry's name above and somehow wrote it in my comment
ReplyDelete(Smile.)
DeleteMy daughters are grown women, and there is that odd feeling at times of how did they reach this age when I only blinked. We do go back and open the doors when they were younger. Life is but a blink.
ReplyDeleteThose blonde curls dance behind the silver door marked experience and living. They will always be there, even if they look different every time we reopen them. New doors are a good thing.
ReplyDelete