I know it is behind me
pulling as I pull,
desiring to go back
in time and to places
that memory recreates
to be what they were not,
to write another story
than the one I’ve already
written about my own life.

A cart filled, tied down
bearing what I would let go –
deeds done and failed to do
words said and failed to say –
forgetting and leaving
them behind in the wake
of the road I’ve travelled.
Yet. These live side by side
with all that was and that
I can never wish to leave behind.

I feel their presence – faces
places I knew, thought I knew,
did not know – the burden
of grief and loss when I left
parents, dear friends, sacred
spaces I still long for when
my heart sinks into my soul
bearing the friendship of remembrance.

I pull it all along behind me
moving more slowly with age.
None of it may be lost or left
behind, not the entwining love
or the wrenching loss.
Each of my days now flowers drenched
in bright sun and falling rain.
Most I cannot remember, lost them
over the wide fields of lush life
become now a bouquet picked
from all the sweet days I can recall
and from the ones I’ve long forgotten.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Portland, Oregon – April 12, 2021