Going through old poetry is like flipping through a photo album or reading a diary: it transports me back to the time I wrote it. I’ve noticed I can tell a certain “era” of my life based on the themes present in my poetry. Even if the subject matter is vague, to me it’s as clear as the day I put the words on the page.
This collection of poems comes from the brief space of time before I went off to college. I used to sit on my back porch in the mornings and evenings, my two favorite times, to watch the sky’s colors change. Anyone who’s been to my parent’s house understands my reference to the windchimes. A notebook and a pen typically accompanied my coffee or tea as I tried to make sense of the changes happening in my life. It was an exhilarating time, if not wholly terrifying.
I miss those quiet times. It’s true that as we get older, life gets busier and time moves faster. Yet in spite of how different my life is now compared to then, the truths still ring clear.
As I reflect on change and consistency this Father’s Day, it’s only fitting to mention my dad. I know that I’m blessed beyond measure to have such wonderful parents, and I’m so thankful for the freedom they gave me growing up. Freedom to try, freedom to fail, freedom to thrive. This year is particularly bittersweet because my youngest sibling just graduated high school and is standing where I was all those years ago. It marks a new era for my family, though much will remain the same.
There’s a beauty in letting go of things. We must hold loosely to the things we love, lest we crush them in our stubbornness. And sometimes, we need to let them go to keep them whole.
I imagine that one of the hardest things a father can do is let go of his children and let them forge their own path in life. We can only stay in the nest so long before the time comes to fly. And even though it means leaving the protection of a father’s wings, there’s no other way to become the people we’ve been molded to be.
Moving On
The rain falls
Car beeps
Nighttime again
The only sound is the ticking of the clocks
Counting down less than a million seconds
Until the parting of ways
And eternity
Whenever the wind blows
I think of Starry Night
And artists in the rain
How the streetlamps reflect in the water
Covering the roads
Like a million tiny stars fallen to earth
And a symphony
Written for two sets of windchimes
And a barking dog
Set to the metronome of ticking clocks
The night is silent and alone, like many people
Yet wrapped in a cocoon of stillness
I hardly feel the pounding future
Words like rivers march before me
Poems and prayers that are my guides
Into this vast unknown
What goes before me to test the waters
Those who have come before
To see the world from a new set of eyes
And ears to hear
The seconds slipping away
And silence arriving to take their place
I stand on the edge, looking behind
At the misty light of morning
Still hearing the wind rush by
And I wait
In one hand, the cue ball
Awaiting the perfect shot
A Sense of Time
The warm breeze plays with my hair
Causing it to dance around my face
The dog snuffles around the yard
And the wind chimes sing delicately
In bravura
The scent of drying linen
Is comforting
And the late afternoon sun
Causes long shadows like silhouettes
Of memory to grace the earth
I find myself in disbelief
That it’s all almost over
Like the feeling of returning home
After a pleasant journey
It had to come some time
Some look back on their childhoods
And are glad to bid them good riddance
But I feel more like I’m parting with a dear friend
The most faithful of them all
Who’s been with me to the end
I always pictured myself far in the distance
And I seemed more successful, monumental
Instead of a young woman who’s still just a girl
It seemed like such a triumph then
Now I look back and realize what a fool I was
Life is not something to be conquered, but embraced
I once thought things would even out
That after a certain time, I would figure it out
And all would be well in the world
And only now that I’m at a summit
Overlooking the road behind me
Do I realize that the journey is far from over
How did I get here so quickly?
As I was walking along it seemed like
Time was of no consequence
But here I am
How many seconds have gone by
Since my conception?
How many more will the world endure
When I have left this earth?
Nothing seems to matter any more
All is so insignificant
That people hardly seem worth fighting for
I barely even know what life is
Who am I to think I know myself?
But my years scroll through my head
Like a movie reel
And just as the sun must bid farewell to another day
So must the trees be puppets of the wind
The Rose and the Thorn
The lightning, so powerful,
Reminds me of how powerless I am
As if God was conducting a symphony
From on high
With the mountains for curtains
And He reaches the climax
The rain falls, as applause
Descends from a crowd
But the humid night air
With the barest scent of
Late summer flowers
Is no place for an audience
Only a theater of the mind
Because I am in tears
Which are hidden by rain
At the thought of leaving
When even the boxes and
Half-opened closet
Speak of my departure
It’s all I can do to breathe
Yet everything seeks to remind
And refuses to let me forget
Even for a moment
They yellow roses that reside
Within a perfect composition
Are cradled by deep green leaves
Of the purest variety
And my eye studies them
As I imagine an artist’s would
But I could do them no justice
With paint
My camera is my words,
The only things left
With which to capture
The world’s true emotions
Yet I still fail to convey
The beauty of such sadness
For it speaks of thankfulness
That leaving is so difficult
Since it means I have wonderful people
Staying behind
And my tears fall heavily as coins
Being tossed into a well
While small joys smile at me
From the haze
And the rain lulls me to sleep
As the thunder’s boom ends the song