A View Of Memories

(In the middle of the night, I dreamt I was as at a poetry reading delivering what was, in essence, this poem.  The words came through so clear that the dream woke me up.)


Memories once thought lost,
drifting across a threshold like
a petulant child eager to be free,
always return.

When they revisit you,
surround you,
open their arms to embrace you,
let them pass through you,
envelop you like a cozy, warm blanket.

They want to come home,
so turn on your porch light,
open your door, your windows,
roll up your sleeves to wear them,
like burnished bronze bangles
adorning the arms with which
you'll embrace them, greet them
like the loved ones they are.

Prepare the most comfortable seat
at the dining table.
Pour strong, hot coffee.
No worries of bitterness, it will mellow.
Offer a slice of cake,
no worries of saccharine sweetness, it will temper.

Let them spend the day with you,
observe your daily routine,
see you in your threadbare robe,
with curlers in your hair,
worn, fuzzy slippers on your feet,
not a hint of rouge on your cheeks.

They will accept you as is,
embrace you warmly, and
even foreboding, fleeting recollections
will become trusted true companions,
able to tenderly tuck you in at night,
kiss you on the forehead,
and sing you to sleep.

(c) 2011 - Tracey Morris, All rights reserved

This is a painting my cousin, Richard Lewis, did of his mother, my aunt Gloria.

This poem is dedicated to her.