Her steps echo on the slate walk.
She turns; searching, but cannot see the others;
the veritable ghost-army keeping pace.
A whisper of perfume
The familiar oak a skeleton in the yard.
Smells of the past and of a storm yet to come.
Memories hits with the open door
and she
falls
down
a rabbit hole,
through the glass of the grandfather clock
its hands spinning backward.
She’s caught – captive in a sandstorm.
There is no shielding herself from the barrage:
– should’ve
– could’ve
– what if?
– why?
Flayed raw by the storm, old scars tear open.
She reaches for an anchor, but finds only the hard curves of an hourglass
nipping, shaping, crushing.
No! she thinks. Not here. I don’t fit here anymore!
The glass is strong, unyielding beneath her fists.
She weeps, trapped, until she remembers.
Let it go.
Her hands are clenched,
crushing sand to her raw palms.
Let it go.
Slowly, painfully, she uncurls each finger and lets the sand blow away.
Standing on the porch, she turns her back on the open door,
clatters down the stairs
suddenly clear;
lighter than when she came up the walk.
She’s remembered: the past is a foreign country:
she cannot live there.
Poetry inspired by the Write on Edge prompt: “The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.” ~ L. P. Hartley: The Go-Between (1953).
This is so evocative of the trap of the past. Thank you for sharing. LM x
Thank you. So glad you enjoyed it.
Clinging to the past is painful and futile. So much of that emotion expressed in this piece.
Sometimes the past clings to us as much as we cling to it. Letting go can be more like trying to shake a toddler off your leg than opening your hands….
Let it go. Yes. We cannot live in the past, but it does have a way of pulling us in, doesn’t it?
Yes, yes it does. Thanks for reading, Kim!
I really enjoy your poetry Angie. This one rings true in so many ways.
Thank you so much, Roxanne. This one’s been brewing for a while and this was the perfect prompt to bring it out.
We none of us can live there, or it will make us something other than what we are.
I loved this bit; smell is so powerful:
“A whisper of perfume
The familiar oak a skeleton in the yard.
Smells of the past and of a storm yet to come.”
Scents can transport you back to memories you didn’t know you still had. It’s amazing.
So glad you liked that bit; it was one of my favorites, too.
I loved the part where she tried to find an anchor but only found what she was trying to forget. It’s so difficult, at times, to remember that we’re the ones who control those forays into the past. I loved reading this.
It doesn’t always feel like we’re in control of those forays at the time, does it? Thank you so much for reading, and I’m so glad you liked it.
I love this. Harsh and yet freeing. The contrasts are wonderful.
Nice. I love how you twisted that quote into the last line. Well done
Angie, sometimes it’s so hard to remember to just stretch out that hand, unclench that fist and just. let. it. go.
Writing has been very cathartic for freeing myself from the past. I imagine it has been for you too.
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