Autumn trees are old friends. Dappled glories, their years of growth remind me of where I am.
Before the weekend is over, somewhere between the reunions,
and the pies,
we will visit one another, these trees that keep me sane. They know all my secrets.
If you hear laughter from the golden forests, that’s me, remembering old times, plotting future shenanigans.
Are you game?
For all my family and friends who keep me rooted, I give thanks.
To those missing in the forest, this one’s for you.
where have you gone to my comrade
where do you dance
I have no souvenirs
just dusty lenses
remember the wet dock dodging bats
kerchiefed canoeist diving naked sunlight bar soap shampoo
Piano hours belting out old Elton John crowd of hoarse zit-faced loonies
swapping chapters like we’d really lived
My parents’ basement house of happenings
sleepovers in flappy flannel costumed prep for arts festivals
you were the first in lipstick
mad drive through the school fields
in spring thaw the mud gave us away.
our fridge list of yummy partners
your lefty slant that tilted us all
the year you got crabs we held your hand at the drugstore
I budded in line in the lobby got the interview first
we ripped wire copy in tandem
learning the newsroom rant byzantine politics we skated falling often
you carried my flag daily
we had babies together,
you had a ball I was a whale
you who came to see me
in that first moment
half mooned eyes matted hair
smiled, said ah, motherhood
you packed my crate
tear blindness prevented logic
called prodded me back
held the net when I teetered
heard it all knew it all
in touch out of touch
you are lost all of you
in the eye of a spinning needle threads my living
rich tapestry indeed.
Copyright © Anne Langford
from my poetry collection, Holding Glass, Alburnum Press, 2001
|Thanksgiving colour hike once upon a time|
For those who asked for it again…