Dear Place

Dear Place

Dear place at the back of my brain
where my grandfather straps skates to his shoes
and glides,
a blue wind with rose face,
along a sweep of my mother’s memory—

my mother loved to sweep—hand her a broom
and you kept her happy
for an hour—

I never saw my grandfather to recall—
he is a flash in the grey of old Kodachrome
where I am a shock of pale bang and sparked
round eyes – I must be quiet for some time to find
that horizon where he skates and
where my mother who was so wounded,

smiles, and where what is ice
is only shine and we all stretch out against it
like strings that might make music
when bowed.

***********************

Here is a poem for my prompt “Dear Poems” on Real Toads. I am sorry to have been so absent; working a great deal.

 

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22 Comments on “Dear Place”

  1. Sherry Says:

    This is such a beautiful poem, full of memory, the beauty of the setting, the glimpse of the child and her mother’s story. Loved it.

  2. Sadah Says:

    This is beautiful.

  3. Kerry Says:

    Karin, I cannot tell you how much I have missed your voice.. you have such a solemn and reflective tone, and your turn of phrase is so skillful, you craft the most amazing pieces of poetry.

    • ManicDdaily Says:

      Thanks so much, Kerry. I really have been horribly busy at work and wonderfully busy with family things. I have been working on little children’s book and one adult book of very short prose pieces. The work has been a bit scattered and I don’t always believe in the project but I hope to have time to pull it together soon, or just to make time. I’m sorry to have been so absent as I have really missed you and the others, but have felt too beset to go back to it. Thanks for your kind words and hope all is well with you and that you are back to your full health. K.

  4. Jim Says:

    It’s a lovely poem, K. Searching in a place where you have only faint recall for more to live by. Even when the physical is there no longer, it helps just being THERE. I cannot relate to any of these, mine is Grandpa on his horse visiting us working in the fields. Another, Mother’s broom was in her hand, rsised, while chasing me out of the house and yard, both of us laughing. Lots more!
    Thank you for peeking in. I meant for the town’s growth lead in to come as the pleasant before the unpleasant. But the first was too much, even though only one paragraph, for the main. I wrote it sitting on the edge of the bed last night, I did do a two pass edit but wasn’t real happy about it when I posted and turned off the light. I’ll change some this morning.
    ..

  5. sanaarizvi Says:

    This is beautifully eloquent, K!💞 I love the image of “strings that might make music when bowed.”

  6. Marian Says:

    Ohhhh so beautiful and aching, Karin. The “so wounded” is so… wounded, I guess. Evokes so much, all of it. Love. XO

  7. kim881 Says:

    What a gorgeous poem! Writing to a place that encompasses such stunning memories, especially:
    ‘where my grandfather straps skates to his shoes
    and glides,
    a blue wind with rose face,
    along a sweep of my mother’s memory’
    and
    ‘he is a flash in the grey of old Kodachrome’

  8. Rosemary Nissen-Wade Says:

    Beautiful … deep … sad … positive….

    I especially love “where what is ice / is only shine”… and that perfect interpolation about your mother’s love of sweeping … and the image of your grandfather skating into the “blue wind” … and that there is that place at the back of your brain … yes, I love all of it!

  9. coalblack Says:

    This is so lovely. I can see them, in the softened light you have painted them with.

  10. mhmp77 Says:

    kaykuala

    only shine and we all stretch out against it
    like strings that might make music
    when bowed.

    The expectations will be met. Great word craft, K!

    Hank

  11. Candy Says:

    Oh, my! Each word perfectly placed to paint us a beautiful picture of your memories

  12. kanzensakura Says:

    Wow. This is an incredible poem\letter. The details such as your mother sweeping. “that horizon where he skates and
    where my mother who was so wounded”…it makes me wonder about that mystery that was your Zmother who “was so wounded”…that line makes me wonder about her.

  13. kanzensakura Says:

    PS Thank you for this wonder prompt and welcome back.

  14. Brendan Says:

    What a joy to know the poetry has kept working in you, friend. This is tender and measured and facet-cut perfectly. A verse letter indeed is a message in a bottle to the back of the brain, perhaps from the depth of the heart. Thanks for the grand challenge.


  15. This is an exquisite poem, with lovely images. Your ending took hold of me.

  16. grapeling Says:

    Karin, your absence has been a whetstone: this pen is keen and keening, and saturated with the dusted light shafts of memory. ~

    • ManicDdaily Says:

      Thanks so much, Michael. I have been writing some – but not poems and not posting. (What I’ve been writing is a little weird actually but am hoping perhaps to put it together into a little book.) And working! Agh! Some staffing issues. Hope you are well! k.


  17. Great to read you again… and of course skating is special to me today… were out doing just that today… To write a letter to that place or memory is a great idea… thank you for the prompt…


  18. I think there are times we visit the wounding of ourselves and others to find a root for healing. This is beautiful.


  19. Time away is forgiven as long as you return. 🙂

    I adore ” we all stretch out against it
    like strings that might make music
    when bowed.” It hints at a few things that make the mind wonder… ” mother who was so wounded” and I like the descriptive “I am a shock of pale bangs…”


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