If I could send
one message
back through time,
I wouldn’t write to beg
words off a writer
I admire –
be it Dante or Blake,
Yeats or Cummings –
and I wouldn’t warn away
the gazes of a to-be
lost love
or push the glad
hands of not-yet
abandoned friends.
I would write
to my yesterday self,
who lazily left
dishes for today’s
me to do,
and I’d rightly tell him:
“Please, reconsider
the sink-
me urge to shirk
was.
“These are citrus-
scented suds,
and if you let them,
they’ll tickle
a memory of 3
too-old oranges
forgotten to bother
the bottom of a wicker bowl,
which in turn
will return you to rethink
the how of when
a younger you
grew 5
times in those 10
years before the death,
and then
you stopped caring for the 20
since.”
It’s news of the wee,
menial
and non-consequential
tasks that gives
all of these me’s pleasure
now.
5 comments:
Francis,thanks again for sharing your art. What a great read. Keep writing.
Francis,
I love this poem!!!
I confess to having a very healthy/unhealthy interest in time travel....
To only change my mind, to dabble with the opposite direction etc etc.
Surely even I might attempt a poetry prompt such as this!!!
Glad you are still word plenty full!
Eileen :)
@McD I've tried to stop, but it appears I can't :). Thanks.
@Eileen There is definitely fertile ground in that topic. Despite my best attempts to focus on other things, sometimes poems force themselves on me, and I have to write their words or lose them.
you have super beautiful imagination here.
if...
wow.
divine poem.
keep it up.
Thanks. Sometimes beautiful, sometimes strange :). I'll definitely keep at it.
Post a Comment