One of my favorite surprises is when, upon going through old things, you find a simple treasure that you hardly even remembered. An old photograph. A flower you were drying in a book. A note from a forgotten friend.
A few years ago, I sent a few poems to a woman whose writings I admire. An eccentric woman of good taste with a keen ear for words. While going through some old things herself recently, she found them and gave them to me with some words of her own: "Powerful stuff, miss."
I read them. And re-read them. And took those words in. Four poems I had not thought of in years. Poems from past lives. From experiences I barely remember having... until I read them again. The feelings came rushing back, the reasons I had to get it all down on paper, the hightened emotion that led me to the poetry. A good poem, like a good diary, captures the guts of a moment so clearly that when you go back and let those words wash over you - you're there again. In an instant. Especially when they're your words.
OLD
I want to grow old with you
so you can lend me your arm
as we take slow walks around the mall
as we take slow walks around the mall
& you can kiss my cheek during the day
& my forehead at night
& i could sleep safely in your embrace
from our first day
until our last breath
together
& my pains would be yours
& your joys would be mine
& we could eat at little diners
& notice young couples
glancing at us
while we love
still as our wrinkles
& gray hair have become abundant
& our speech softer than it used to be
& our hands would feel empty
if not filled with the other's heart
& soul
& our bodies would wither
without the warmth of synchronized touch
& time will be less important
& age won't matter
