This Other Place

If any of you have read anything of my self-published writing you will have had a taste of my retrospection and introspection. For those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about I am essentially touching on the challenges encountered and observations made when one is uprooted from one society and plonked down in another, forcibly or by choice. I have elaborated on this in a previous post. Here I thought I would give flight to some of these thoughts in verse.

This Other Place

Life is spare in sentiment
now that I have travelled to this other place.
Stripped bare of pride and prejudice
I can look within and contemplate
memory, both the essence and the distillate.

Now thirty-five, man not child,
I have outlived my parents both.
Should I have remained, wed perhaps,
in that other place I once called home
where spirit-memories of them roam?

My mother’s ashes are within two casks:
One with her sister in the south,
the other with my brother Dan,
in that other place I once called home
hills of granite, red soils of loam.

My father’s ashes now far dispersed,
scattered in the mighty lake.
I imagine his cremated bones now blackened
settling in the sediment; or then again,
reincarnate in things too small to name.

***

I have often pondered
what truths and lessons can be taught,
in the recollection of these things,
which arise from sentimental thought?

Regardless of analysis,
It is a world of changing fortunes.
If my very blood could speak,
it would tell you of such things,
the weak made strong, the strong made weak.

Yet my tribe’s not gone,
only assimilated by another
whom to her bosom takes
her wayward children,
and like a mother
forgives our misplaced aspirations.

Advertisements

One thought on “This Other Place”

  1. Combien de fois, d’années?
    Tant, tellement que ma mémoire
    -confuse et incertaine-
    ne discerne plus du noir du fond
    le clair de ses yeux.
    La douceur de ses yeux,
    cette intensité qui me faisait marcher.

    Faut-il espérer ou croire
    avancer toujours.
    puis d’enfant, devenir mère
    et comprendre.
    Cette joie, cette lumière,
    chaque jour renouvelée
    dans ses prunelles.

    Et renouveler moi-même
    ce regard, cet espoir.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s