The Past’s Future

One day when you pick up a pen,
and the sun hits it in a certain light,
you will stop
and think of me

Just for a moment,
just tiny second
you will see me
a flash of hair
a glimpse of skin

And yes, you will remember,
 a great sadness will weight your heart
and then your son,
a boy of nine
will come to you and pull the pen away
and you will forget me,
everything will be nothing once again

Somewhere in the grass
beside a river,
many years later
I will be a grand old lady
small with dainty fingers
that will run over the bark of a rough tree

And I will remember
I will close my eyes and remember
and perhaps, since I am the sort,
I will shed a tear
and a breeze will blow
and ruffle my purple dress

And I will stand up
see to my grandchildren,

who are trying to catch a frog

Posted in Poetry.


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