(Forget-me-nots)
It is a small blue face with a
bright yellow smile. Don't
forget me, they shout in my ear.
In grandma's garden, they
colored the fence, and as I neared,
their song would ring in my head,
flooding my memories with dreams
of ripe strawberries staining my
fingers as I pick them from a
freshly watered patch. Meanwhile
grandma sprays the crows away from
the potatoes, pretending not to see
me stomach more of the fruit than
I save for the nights desert.
Like their yellow smiles, these
memories shine through years
of distance. Perhaps one day
I'll return to find them waiting,
ready to sing to me one more time.
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2 comments:
i enjoy this one. especially the part about the blue faces and the strawberries staining your fingers. good images.
I wasn't going to publish this one. I had it all typed up and saved as a draft, but I thought something was lacking.
Earlier today, my sister sent me some writing of hers, describing how she feels towards objects, as though they won't betray her. In the end it tied this idea that she has, that everything inanimate that we've left behind in Poland, she yearns to see again. When thinking about the people, it's more likely that we'll be dissapointed.
Anyway, reading this quickly reminded me of this short little poem. In the base of it, it's about these forget-me-nots that I, to this day, adore above any other flower. Why? Because it's tied to Poland, which I idealize in many way. But I think just like my sister, I realize that I won't recognize the people, and they won't recognize me. Those forget-me-nots, however, will always stand out. :)
Thanks for the comment, check back soon. I'm hoping to get some more poetry and photo stuff tied together.
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