I watch her
How carefully she walks up the steps
Tenderly holding her urn
For valuable precious and personal dusts of her memories
Are waiting to be sprinkled
On her waiting soul
Some making her smile
And others making her bleed
Once again on her spotlessly clean
She gently puts down her urn in a corner
One that looks more like a beautiful porcelain vase with a cover.
As she caresses it, she lets out a sigh
She catches my eyes
And with a twinkle of sadness
Uncovering her vase
She turns backwards the hands of father time
Digging in she takes out a handful of dust
The memories of loneliness, lost beloved friends and family
Bitter sweet memories
For she plays in her mind
The fun, the love and secrets shared.
She digs in deeper
Looking for parts of herself
My mouth waters for she takes out her strawberry wine
To accompany her
While making her rejoice and then bleed over again
I would give her a tissue
But that would just wipe the dust away:
She won’t allow it, it’s not time yet
How I understand her wanting to go back
For memories don’t go away
They grow deeper
Last sip of strawberry wine
Dusty shelf needs cleaning now
Not one particle left astray
All carefully being stored away
For another melancholy day.
She stays and now looks at me
It will soon be my turn now
But we hear the familiar footsteps
That leave a trail of heavy inked quills
Foot steps belonging to a gentle giant
That carry a much more delicate, exotic and larger vase
For from a breed of giants he comes
And his giants he tenderly carries them too.
My gentle Cosimoro
Also has many questions
But the man who deeply thinks
With well worded ink
Hasn’t any answers
No words to utter
Of the why of the bleeding dust
Of the why we must go back
And turn backwards tha hands of time.
Our shelves are awfully quiet
Exept for the sound of Dust.
The other day I read Christine’s I Cant Tell Ya How Good The Bleeding-shelf Feels and I felt every word deeply. I do have my Bleeding Shelf.
Then just the other night I read Cosimoro’s Bali-Ten Years On
and it also tugged at my heart.The day after, my head started spinning and spinning with words because their writes spoke to me.. Thank you for the inspiration, Christine and Cosimoro.
Today I have read and seen much loss.