|
as generations pass
by Angela Thomasmaybe it's taken me over a year to clean my desk
because it's not really my desk. it's hers. i can still see
her sitting at it in the middle of the night, hammering
away at some piece of wood that isn't in the right
place, drawers imperfectly sliding along century-old
tracks her grandfather cut and built. the pictures
aren't the hardest part. they're static, memories
i can pinpoint, like a pushpin on a map. the words,
scraps of paper, wobbles in the letters, fragments
of who my mother was and what she really felt,
those are the hard part to just move aside. it means
she's not here anymore. it means it's just me. this is
my desk. warped, full of responsibility and my pen
to the paper, creating letters my child will read one
day hesitantly long after i've left, looking for a clue
as to why her mother was crying into the paper. 06/24/2011 Posted on 06/25/2011
Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Ariane Scott on 06/25/11 at 01:35 PM On a technical note, great form, fabulous flow. On a human note, I am so moved by this. Your careful crafting is evident yet still the emotion inherent in legacy (the combined celebration and sadness) drive the piece. Those are the elements that make a well written, poignant poem. |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 06/25/11 at 08:53 PM Deeply personal (so it felt to me, anyway) and powerfully written in every line. |
| Posted by E. A. Pugh on 06/26/11 at 04:27 PM Really great and wonderful. I especially liked the last line. |
|
