Monday, December 19, 2011

Remembrances: the footstools

Stacked in the corner,
remembrances of you.
Green, orange, black,
of childhood tumblings
and vague happiness;
its exactness, I cannot recall.

A wide open pond; the biggest I'd known,
yet small enough for our two pairs of eyes
fishing poles
later, fried shrimp
the taste, remembered on my tongue.

Stacked in the corner,
remembrances of you;
worn places, from years of movement.
Lean back, prop your feet,
feel the brandy go down.
Though I did not see; yet, I know.

So little did you allow,
yet these feet-proppers became
chairs for the wee ones
until one day, I'm sure,
we became outgrown and
recognized your raised voice, come down hard.

Stacked in the corner
of our home now -
what most do they remind me of?
Family and fireplaces and
dogs running 'round
and the corner of old,
where eventually they retired.

Another chance, I will give them
to be used and loved
as before they became old news.
Stacked in the corner,
remembrances of you,
and a chance to begin again.

{Written October 22, 2011}