Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Forever Changed

Memories come to us sometimes, not in full sentences, but in images or groups of words that hold more meaning than any other narrative.

These words today reflect a memory of when I was four and struck by a car.  I was crossing the blacktop road that sat in front of our small Iowa farmhouse.  My mother, who was only 15 when she married, was on the other side, gazing down the road as my father steered his tractor to a nearby pasture for spring plowing.

Me at age 4 in Cairo, Iowa

When I Reached for Your Hand

I should  have known
you could not be there

when I reached
for your hand

you had already left

freeing yourself
of me
dreaming of another place
and time

I wonder

did you ache 
for what you left behind

or yearn for what
may never come

when I reached for your hand
and it was gone

left alone
I was not afraid

to cross over
to you

on that bright warm
early spring day
with the damp dark earth

beckoning to be split open

from the cold metal
that would carve through
its soft underbelly

not afraid
to reach for you
to call to you

but you would not hear
my cry

you had already left
and went away
to another place
that I was not allowed
to follow

you with your lost
innocence and wonder
and dreams

never to be realized

unaware
of what was left behind

me

who was reaching out
for you to take my hand

me

who was taking
that step
closer
to you

to bring you back
from that place that
stole you
and
left me behind

I reached for your hand
but it was gone

I was unafraid

to cross over
to you

and my life was
forever changed.


missing the mom gene

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