That Early Morning
She approached so quietly
The hem of her black silk skirt
Lightly kissed the floor
No one turned to stare
Didn’t follow her with
Their eyes
Yet all along...
I knew she was there
And why she had come
No place to hide
The day is circled
On the calendar
She held the key
In her hand
A glint sparkled
As the sun reflected
On the metal
And lit the living heart
Each person has a special day
Circled on the calendar
A day to celebrate the life
Lived in earnest
Like the last grain in the sack
The birthday
Celebrating birth
A death day
Celebrating death
A day to call his own
Set the level on the sill
As long as the
The little bubble remains
Right in the center
It is not your day
But don’t get too attached
For your day will come
It is circled on the calendar
Each day could be thought
Of as just one more phase
An invitation extended
Be a player in life’s game
Jump on
Take a chance
Live it right up to the edge
For the ending comes too soon
For a Mother and her Son
June 18, 2014
19 comments:
unimaginable, even now.)))
xo
erin
i have had that conversation...about why we have celebration days...when each day could be one we could celebrate...just being alive still...and enjoying what the day will give us...
Yes, that ending comes too soon. I like the image of the little bubble remaining in the center of the level - "it is not your day". Yet. Thanks for this, Annell.
yes - it is good to live fully and enjoy what the day brings - day by day in the moment - thankful and celebrating
Well..when i had a child that died..it taught me what life truly is.. so i celebrated today...
and then pain taught me..
how pain can take it all away..
and without
pain..
ALL i celebrate
is
NOW..:)
Smiles and have a great Summer!
Lovely. I especially like the opening lines.
Ah, I found this an honoring of life, life-passing, celebration and a person's individual devastations whose dates remain etched into our patterns of awareness.
Also, something about this matched to the picture of the individual working on geometric forms, had me thinking about how there is a geometric solidity to what was expressed in the poetry. What I mean is, there are all these connections throughout dimensions, and to honor a death is to honor a connection with another space and place that perhaps holds the essence of form and structure throughout all that is. And truly, that was a beautiful way of my holding my own death of a child, the hem of my black skirt, and the sense of celebration for all that was on my side of the time we spent together.
That start and the black silk. I really liked the progression... Until that end.. When you see the blackness of that circle in the calendar
Yes, we do need to live life right up to the edge, for we don;t know when the end might come, just that it will. Every day should be a celebration, bad or good. Just for being alive is a miracle.
Each day is a gift!
It does come too soon..even though part of us knows it is always there..it should be ahead.. a long way off xo
I am holding in my heart the image of the level on the sill and its perfectly balanced bubble. I would like to think that the bubble would stay in place for a long, long time yet, but who knows? For like the ending for mother and son, the ending for all of us comes too soon...and we don't know exactly when. Thank you for reminding me to treasure the Now.
Wow. This is powerful. The surprise ending is so sad. I love the way you played with the different reasons women wear black dresses.
This is laced with wisdom!
Really nice turn on the personified Death
It is fortunate we are so besotted with the now that we know little of the when; that cloud of unknowing that walks with us always.
'Be a player in life’s game' ... 'take chance' ~ love the message. Blessings xx
Love your wise and deep exploration. I see that bubble on the window sill. What a wonderfully creative image. Yes, there is sadness at the end, but sadness is a part of human existence, always there somewhere inside that bubble. Hugs, my friend...am so glad you continue to write...
Elizabeth
Annell, we must live every day as if it were our last. I love this poem, it is full of wisdom.
Pamela ox
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