It Can’t Be True
I lay my head in hand
and went blank with tears that slid slowly down to burgundy sheets.
Somewhere near, in my memories,
The fog lay its chords down like fingers
On the neck of a good guitar.
Feel it cool and smooth in my hand
Worn in familiar ways like a friend,
The lone survivor of the war.
So much of my life is nothing more than a simplistic soundtrack
stretching backward in lost faded pictures
and home movies that ended up in someone else’s trash.
I know…You keep your memories in your heart
and hope you memorized the lines well enough to recite them
with truth and conviction, no additions or subtractions
without outside addictions or distractions.
Where will I go when I raise my head?
There, in someone else’s town,
I’ll learn to forget
And echo children’s smiles until the morning comes
Without fog and the music is mine again.
I’ll sing your song, remember your smile
Under the full moon of a new year come to stay.
gingatao! said,
October 24, 2007 at 10:08 pm
Beautifully ornate and complex poem that leads the reader through a series of interconnected images and ideas while never losing its smooth emotional transition. Subtle, delicate and controlled. Lovely poem, Mimi.