Memories (Tanka)

Physical distance
no remedy for dark past
those childhood bruises
etched on old bones – solid as
the house that bore them witness.

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)

Tainted Memories

Weekends at cottage
we’d linger over coffee,
dew sparkling on primroses

How we’d race to the lake
laughter emerging
from cool depth

Flowers scowl now
Lake’s chill hardened

Do you wait for me
in the eternal darkness?

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)

A Convertible Summer

Summer of ’67
British invasion
Canada claiming 100 –
Dad arrives home
in a powder puff
blue convertible.

Back seat sisters
long hair flapping
bellowing along
with 8-track tunes:
Loving Spoonful
“Do you believe in magic?”

I, barely nine
idolizing a sister
sixteen – a model
with go-go boots
and hippie style

Cottaged at Sauble
muscle cars prowling
oiled bodies lounging
and all eyes lit
on sister, and I
wondering at the draw
made castles in the sand.

Surfing the waves
avoiding the baby
whose brash cries
and quick, chubby legs
keep Mom distracted,
I am observer of the life
Neil Diamond is promising:
“Girl, you’ll be a woman soon.”

Ah, to be 9, in summertime
few the cares, and ideas
like popcorn, burst and pop,
forgotten in each watery plunge
still content to be a child.

(A Convertible Summer first appeared here in June of 2018.  I submit this edited version for Eugi’s Causerie Weekly challenge:  summer.  Image my own.)

 

 

Childhood Home

The place remains in my dreams
like a movie set preserved…

Have assigned each room
a critique – disclosed the crimes

Yet, it remains, like a beacon
draws me to it, begs reflection

What if I could go back
now that I can breathe

Now that I’ve laid claim to maturity
would I discover a sudden windfall

makeover conditioned motifs
reevaluate ceiling heights

with resources to remodel
heart open, connected

might I uncover abundance
like a personal embrace.

(For Reena’s Exploration Challenge: featured image.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Desert

Take me to the desert
with mountains at our side;
walk with me in shadows
let nature be our guide.

We’ll stroll amongst the cacti
pay homage to the quails;
take me to the desert,
help me gather tales.

The seasons are passing,
we’re running out of time;
take me to the desert;
heal this heart of mine.

(Desert first appeared here in November 2018.  As Winter blows in around us, I think longingly of our time spent in warmer climates. Image from personal collection.)