Child of Mine
You and I, we lived in our enclosed world
of earth-shattering cries,
and lullabies sung out of love and memory.
Each living inch of you was miracle,
your salt-stained smile a kaleidoscope thing
of ever-changing wonder.
I had no words then, was dumbfounded,
too entranced, exhausted, enchanted,
to commit you to a paper prison where
fascinating plump-braceleted wrists
and the endless scent of milk-warm skin
stayed frozen in some verbal snapshot trap.
But now, child of mine, memory frays,
and I fear losing our then amongst
the grey, dead-end paths of my aging brain.
Words are the only tool I have
to keep my pasts alive and unforgotten.
© Lucy Coats 2011
9 comments:
Sigh - this is exactly - EXACTLY how I feel...
It's just that sometimes I can't remember the tiny things I thought I always would - and I find that sad. Kind of relieved (but not exactly glad) that I'm not alone, K!
'Words are the only tool I have
to keep my pasts alive and unforgotten' Wonderful words!
Thanks, Miley. All I can do is write stuff down and hope!
Yes - write down these things...
Lovely poem, Lucy!
I did keep a diary once my second child was born, inspired by the example of Mrs Gaskell, who managed to combine careers as an author, social reformer, mother of several, minister's wife, biographer... and diarist of her children's doings and sayings. I'm glad I did. Would I otherwise remember my eldest child saying, aged about three, as big raindrops smacked on the windshield of my car, 'Look Mummy, a water cat is walking on the windscreen, making wet footprints!'
Maybe.
Lovely poem, Lucy and brilliant child's comment, Kath! I kept three little "books of remarks" for mine.
Oh dear, Kath and Mary. Another #diaryfail for me. I kept no notes for either child. Love that water cat image....
Yes, why are children such effortless poets?
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