the ocean always dreamed blue dreams
When life was clean
by , 10-19-2009 at 12:32 AM (2255 Views)
When I look at photographs of my childhood I am always struck by how young we all were, my parents and grandparents, my brother and sister and myself, and by how beautiful we all were. My parents in particular seem caught in a lovely light of youth and health. At the time they seemed so prosaic to me. I loved them-then and now-but they did not seem beautiful. In fact, I would venture to say that I, impossible as it seems, took them for granted. I have tried not to do that for years, but it doesn't matter. It is going to end one day, and I don't want it to. I don't want to ever have to live without them, my beautiful parents who made life safe for me and love me more than anyone ever has or probably ever will.
When life was clean
So it comes to this
two old people sit
in a forgotten house
their daughter, once
a biddable child, calls them
once a week, her voice
tinny over the phone line
as they breathe assurances
of their health and bridge
and the litany of friends who’ve
died
memories peer at them from the
corners of the room like mice
creeping out at night to nibble
at the photographs of black and white
when life was clean, it’s edges sharp
a firstborn son, now dead
a Christmas tree with
with sleepy headed children
gathered round it
a backyard barbecue
an orange Chevrolet
all the women in dresses with
snug bodices, swirling skirts
and upswept hair
the men with two cans of beer tucked
away and foolish grins tugging
at the corners of their mouths
and the giddiness of possibility
ringing in their ears
now they wait
patiently for sleep
for the days to pass
and the good father to come and
not even a dove can take away their
silent night
Qimissung
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