Wednesday, June 30, 2010

blades and clover

poppy, 2010


The photograph is from
France,
but it doesn't matter.

It is mine. Clearly,
although from several
decades before.

My blades and clover.

I knew them
well. I can't imagine they have
changed.

Faces move closer to the ground,
when they are young.

And little is forgotten.

I can feel myself posing,
grudgingly, in front of our roses,
before my mother's camera.

My arms bare. My hair in a
pixie.

Her hope to coax a smile is before
me. I can touch it.

6 comments:

  1. it made me think of me and my pixie cut...and frowning at the camera.

    beautifully written

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  2. Really? I love that. Thanks for letting me know.

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  3. i LOVE this phrase, "Her hope to coax a smile is before
    me. I can touch it." so lovely...

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  4. Katrina, Thank you. It was. I could. I had seen a French photograph, a tight close-up of a lawn. The blades of grass and clover looked identical to the grass that had been in my childhood backyard. It brought back a flood of memories.

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  5. you never know what small unexpected thing will spark a rush of memory, one of life's great joys.

    i enjoy your writing and willingness to share.

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