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Click hereMemory leaves us broken gifts,
like a bat without a ball,
like a doll with just one arm.
Incomplete but precious, gifts
we love in any case. As of our trip
to England and our northern drive
along the heights, over bare
deserted land: I yet can feel
the rental car's rough fabric seats,
I see you driving on my right,
but don't know what it was we wore
or the color of the car. I see
the lack of trees, the sloping hills,
the thin white poles sunk tall and deep
along the edge of road.
But was it heather on the land
or gorse or bracken? I cannot tell.
I even view deep snow and tracks
of tires that hug those poles
and mark the safest path. A scene,
of course, we never saw. And then
descending from the heights,
I know we parked on that last ridge
to eat, but what we ate is gone.
In its place are distant sheep
herded slowly through a gate,
a man and his two circling dogs.
The dogs race and stop, race and stop.
The sheep shift like a school of fish
restlessly toward the gate
and the safety of their pen. And
I can see as if today
the dark flecks in your watching eyes,
your crease of smile, your twist of neck,
your turn to me and how I sensed
your lips, your hands, your taste, your scent.
The trip to England threw me a bit at first, but it works among the total fabric. This poem has a slightly "off the beat" rhythm and is all the stronger thereby.
The comment below is mine. I did not intend to leave it anonymously. I just forgot to sign in.
TheRainMan
I am so impressed by your language, and your handling of it. How spare and essential it is, marching always on. How gently you allude, always on theme.
The only thing I question is the colon. I do not thing it appropriate, and certainly not necessary. Why not a period?
Wonderful reading.
Very nice;
It takes but little bits of thought
To resurrect a memory whole;
Felt like I was there with you
From a time so long ago...