Artifacts of the Past

Poetry & Prose April 6, 2017

“I’m not sure”
In an instant my father was a man, confused like the rest of us
My mother was a woman, frail and insecure like the best of us

I saw myself in my father
A passion for living and a hatred for dinner parties; I never know what to do with my hands

I saw myself in my mother
Ambitious independence and a soft spot for a moving story; who else cries from the impact of a single note

I clear the table of any crumbs and pause to steady the forest fire that has been my tongue
I leaf through history and retrieve the stories of those whose enigmatic life requires further understanding.

I see artifacts of a fractured past reminiscent of my own
I see joy, desire and purpose

A life well-lived not yet complete

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