Nostalgia…as this blog is nothing if not nostalgic, this should have been easy. Old books, right? My first memory of walking into a true blue antiquarian bookshop when I was nineteen? A snatch of Robert Burns’ poetry that my grandfather loved to quote, all forever connected in my mind with his tobacco stained plaid shirts and the scrape scrape of his blackened toast…? Crunchy leaf-strewn walks in the country, with my mom’s copy of Walden in hand…? Done.

Yet, I kept thinking about this plucky clematis on my patio that bloomed vivid and carefree all summer long…a curtained backdrop to our outdoor laughter and sunlit afternoons with friends. Then it began the un-wished for departure…much too soon…with a casual strewing of petals. Like a good-bye that has to be rushed, for fear of tears. A presence much too fleeting. I miss it already.

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Fleeting

what is nostalgia
but my own private
Greek chorus
chanting softly
collective in shadow
on an ancient stage
suggesting
murmuring
insistent
“You will feel this way”
my one act
falters
my soliloquy
fades
distant disquiet, unseemly
persists
as though one
falling petal
(mere cellulose tissue)
should convey
so much more
when, simply it is
surely it is

one more petal

that has fallen

softly

 

5 thoughts on “Fleeting

  1. A lovely poem that conveys perfectly that bit of sadness that certain moments are perfect for their time and can’t be repeated. So nicely done.

  2. I so loved how you set up the poem first of all, I could have heard a few more of your nostalgic moments, I felt like I was with you walking, going to the bookstore, carrying Walden. Then your beautiful poem had the feeling of the falling blossoms, until the last bloom slowly dropping. Totally Enjoyed!

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