| Commentary and Philosophy Poetry posted May 18, 2009 | Chapters: |
...8 9 -10- 11... 
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a reflective quatern
A chapter in the book Quaterns: Observations on Life
Snapshots
by adewpearl
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I wish I could remember us that day in 1951 when in your arms you cradled me, our lives together just begun. That summer day in '53, I wish I could remember us, two bathing beauties on the beach, just hanging out, no need for fuss. The pose we struck in '55, your polka dots, my party dress -- I wish I could remember us on days so filled with happiness. But memories abandon me, eight Christmas mornings turned to dust. If I could ask for just one thing, I wish I could remember us. |
 Recognized |
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May 28 marks the 50th anniversary of the death of my mother.
She died days after I turned eight. I have a handful of impressionistic memories of her that I cherish, but they are few.
I have collected all the photos I can find of us together, not many as my father was not big on saving things, and put them in an album. Sadly, I cannot remember a single event the photographs capture - days in our backyard on the swing or in the sand box, vacation photos, birthday party celebrations, Christmas mornings under the tree. I know the people in the pictures are my mother and me, but the photos are the only evidence I have that we shared those experiences. The memories are just not there.
The poem says the rest.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. She died days after I turned eight. I have a handful of impressionistic memories of her that I cherish, but they are few.
I have collected all the photos I can find of us together, not many as my father was not big on saving things, and put them in an album. Sadly, I cannot remember a single event the photographs capture - days in our backyard on the swing or in the sand box, vacation photos, birthday party celebrations, Christmas mornings under the tree. I know the people in the pictures are my mother and me, but the photos are the only evidence I have that we shared those experiences. The memories are just not there.
The poem says the rest.
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