Charmed Chaos
Musings on Life, Love, and Linguine-Poetry & Writing
Remembrance
“Tonight I can smell the season the way it’s usually only possible to at the very first moments of its return, before you’re used to it, when you’ve forgotten its smell, then there it is back in the air and the flow of things shifting and resettling again.”
― Ali Smith, The Whole Story and Other Stories
A simple yellow postcard addressed to you, dear mother
was all it took to take me back to my deepest heartbreak
and as I looked at that innocent reminder,
my tears began to spill, and my stoic will did flounder
Mother, wrenching grief is never far away,
for I see you in each sun drenched summer day.
Your bluest eyes dance with the buoyant clouds,
the lilt of your voice carries on the nascent breeze
the fragrant pastel pink roses are a sweet reprieve
for within them, your gentle smiling face I see
and as hot tears fall upon these wrinkled hands,
I see you there too mom, for these aging hands
are your beautiful hands as I remember them.
©2021 Linda Lee Lyberg
Imaginary Garden with Real Toads: Timetravel- Flashbacks with Bjorn
Share this:
27 Comments on “Remembrance”
Leave a Reply
JUST RELEASED!
JUST RELEASED!
Bartender at
Barista at Go Dog Go Cafe
Awards Top 20 Short Story Blog
Recent Comments
 | Linda Lee Lyberg on Alora |
 | qbit on Alora |
| Linda Lee Lyberg on Alora |
| Susie Clevenger on Alora | |
| Linda Lee Lyberg on #Haibun: Desert Rain |
POETS CORNER
Charmed Chaos 
Pingback: Remembrance — Charmed Chaos.. re blog, A Mother recalled… | paddypicasso
To see her hands in your own is especially touching…. flashbacks being so strong memories it would often turn to those who have left us.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Yes, so many times that’s true. Thank you Bjorn.
LikeLike
Like you, I saw myself in my Mother’s hands … my granddaughter’s and daughter’s as well. Beautifully done.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you Helen.
LikeLike
Her hands in your hands. There was a comedian many years back who said something like, my hands came out of my sleeves and freaked because they were my mother’s hands. and everybody roared with laughter. Today I find those words to be so sad. Like your poem. You see your mother in roses and I see mine in pansies. I look down and see her hands in mine. So heartbreaking Linda.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Yes, it s but for me it is also comforting in a strange way. Thank you Toni.
LikeLike
I see you there too mom, for these aging hands
are your beautiful hands as I remember them.
These lines are especially true for me..I see my mother’s hands in my own too, sometimes, and sometimes in the lines on my face.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you, Kerry.
LikeLike
Such a BEAUTIFUL and moving poem, Linda. I can see her smiling, as she reads the words. (For I believe their spirits are still aware of us sometimes.)
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you Sherry. I believe so as well.
LikeLike
This is such a beautiful poem, Linda. I believe she’s smiling right now!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you Sanaa.
LikeLike
This was so touching–seeing her everywhere, but most especially in your hands. That feels like a powerful legacy.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Yes, thank you Rommy.
LikeLike
Absolutely beautiful Linda. When I was small I always thought great my father was being sporty minded like him. Later that view altered as I could see she was the strong one, who coped and managed through difficulties and held everything together outliving him by many years.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you for sharing.
LikeLike
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you Chuck.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Always happy to share your posts, Linda!!
xoxo
LikeLiked by 1 person
😊🙏🏻
LikeLike
It’s interesting what an insignificant (to some) object would invoke such intense and significant memories.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Yes, thank you.
LikeLike
What a lovely reminiscence / tribute.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you Rosemary.
LikeLike
A nice tribute.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you.
LikeLike