Monday, October 12, 2009

memories, blowing through my square clean green lawn,
are raked
in piles,
and trashed.
With diligence.
Back inside,
hear brittle whispers
and grip tightened whitened knuckles
round my weaponry once more.
daily well-intended invasions..
when you called my name into the woods
you must have set the trees in motion
Rake. Bag. Trash.
(we'll have none of that)


Claire said...


i am an observer to this one but i am also a participant. i am inside the bag but my knuckles are also white.

i always ask myself,how does she do what she does?

simply yes.

The Girl From Cherry Blossom Street said...

Yes, let it go.

The Girl From Cherry Blossom Street said...

I realized I said "let go" with such nonchalance or finality. We all know: It.Takes.Time.
I was referring to my own lingering pile which needs sorting out!

Rake. Bag. Trash. 3 powerful and provocative words.

in another lifetime said...

let it go sounds good though:) it was nice to hear.

Leenie said...

I especially like the line,

"grip with tightened whitened knuckles"

But still something sets the trees in motion and we are back with more to rake. Most excellent poetry.

Linda Sue said...

I allow the wind to do it's thing...I don't own a rake. Dexter is a shih -tzu, however it is spelled- he is that- He was the runt of the litter but has grown to be twice the size and twice as smart as his siblings.- Is it nature or nurture?
Your poetry sends me! LOVE IT! Delish!

Beverly Ash Gilbert said...

Oh if only some memories could really go out with the trash instead of being whirled around with each blustery day.

Not sure why the stubborn ones keep re-surfacing, especially when we're vulnerable.

Anonymous said...

cool poem.

LifeIsArt said...

Wow. Love it.