Tattered Pages
In the recollections of my journey thus far, the tattered pages of my life flutter
in my mind. Like snapshots of times and places in black and white and color.
Haunting faces and glimpses of places. Sad narratives come to mind along with
stories and the history of family. Happiness entwined with sadness is all mine.
I often open the rusty old gate and travel a winding path to a place of weeping.
And I stand trembling with the wind in my hair . . .
the wind takes my hair
tangled branches creak and groan
whispering my name
And the tattered pages flutter. I find myself in a church, ornately beautiful.
I am a little girl praying on my knees. The hum of a thousand candles flicker.
Then I am holding my fathers hand as we stroll a lush green park. We laugh
as we walk along, just me and my father. We are going to feed the swans,
oh the beautiful floating white swans of my memory . . .
crystal clear water
the swans silently drifting
they come to greet us
Like wings whirling the pages move. I am me just a few weeks ago. I
hold a single red rose and place it at his headstone. I trace the words with
my finger. Baby, son of . . . he never got to see the sky. I never got to hold
him in my arms. I must turn this page for it is ripping out my heart and soul.
He the family secret not adopted but dead . . .
and gentle rain falls
on a bright red rose bleeding
clouds darken the sky
___________________________
July 11, 2015
Poetry/Haibun/Tattered Pages
Copyright Protected, ID 07-688-244-11
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
For the Premier contest, Haibun,
sponsor, scott thiryseven, Judged 2015
Third Place
Submitted to the Standard contest, Completely Your Choice (43)
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged, 01/17/2021
Tenth Place
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2015
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