someone ate my baby carrier
my handheld tape recorder
those faded brown cowboy boots
the pink fuzzy case of CDs
a pile of watercolor hearts
that sunflower babydoll dress
ate all these pieces of me
repeating under their breath,
keep moving forward
keep moving forward
but it’s hard to walk
with so much missing
*74/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day. All photos are mine.
Very nice.
Thank you so much.
Gathering the new that keeps us moving ever forward
One step after another.
This one really resonates with my daily downsizing and letting go of so many pieces of me! Thank you!
Thank you for sharing that with me. I need to do that. I’ve started going through one drawer a day. It’s time to get my house back in order.
The depth in this is awesome.🙏🏾
Thank you! I’m so glad you think so.
There’s one that really resonates my bell. Yes, who keeps eating these pieces of us. A question you omitted: …and how are we to keep hold of these things with our failing memory?
It’s so strange, aging. I feel like it’s suddenly happening to me, all at once. My body and my mind are at war.
Now there’s an opening line for a poem…
Not sure I’m ready to write that one yet. Feels like the war is too fresh.
This is a disturbing ledger of mortality, each familiar name and remembered gesture followed by an absence. The deaths at the zoo gradually cast their shadow closer home. Photography becomes an attempt to arrest the transient, to hold on to what is still here before the light changes, before someone else leaves…