Forgotten Moments
I fall to my knees
Examine the ground before me
Try to remember
The language written there
Breathe the air
Count the clouds

I am ignorant
I have forgotten
The meaning of traces
The earth rotates
Days, months, years
Pass without notice
I question the moment
Past, present
Or simply eternity

A drawer opens
A housewife’s collection revealed
Forgotten moments
Notes on crumpled paper – a phone number
Coins – a nickel, a dime, some pennies
A pencil with broken point
A recipe for pecan pie
Three Rubber bands
Bits of string
Tiny red ball
Some jacks

Odds and ends
Hurriedly put away
Over time forgotten
Days, months, years
Past, present
Or simply eternity

Subtracting all
The hopes and fears
A lemon rind of time
Past or present
Spurn responsibility
Add – subtract
Days, months, years
This moment is all there is

What is forgotten no longer stings


The Mag #125

A Memory Incomplete

All the way back in time

To the beginning of my story

We lived there on that small farm

It belonged to My Aunt Maggie

Strong, jolly, lovely crown of white hair

And My Uncle Fred

Small, wiry, couldn’t drink a coke “straight”

Together they harvested life

Lived it fully

One day they left the farm

I remember the last time

I saw them

Sitting on the sofa

What happened next

I do not know

They were such a big part

Of my young life

Then they were gone

Someone else lived on their farm

And we moved to town

Mother is gone now

I cannot ask her

34 thoughts on “July 8, 2012 Sunday Whirl #64 and the Mag #125

  1. A tangle which somehow makes perfect sense as you sift through it and turn into words and place for one time that pecan pie was the moment so it is still important perhaps and is a treasure to be kept in those drawers..for the moment at least..time seems to be running through a lot of posts today..maybe we are at the fulcrum of the year..Jae

    1. I have just started reading The Great Aridness, and in the beginning he tells a story of a crime, and two Indians men come to read the language of what happened on the earth, and we have forgotten how to read this language then I turned to the that “junk drawer” we almost all have, and what is in it. keys we have forgotten what they open, but can’t seem to throw them away, or that bit of string that might come in handy someday? We try to distill the moment, “is it past or present, or just a part of eternity?” Then after all, this moment is the one moment that is important, this moment is all we have. Annell Livingston HC 74 Box 21860 El Prado, NM 87529

  2. Annell, this is one of my favorites of yours. The deep questions, the trivia of our cluttered drawers. A spectacular write with a deep truth that it is so hard for us to remember.

  3. this moment is all there is…or all we can count…i love your house wife’s drawer…we have one…my mom had one…so it made me smile…i have a catch all drawer by the bed as well…of little snippets of memory…

  4. The present is all there is but, a drawer like that can suddenly bring back whole bucket loads of mixed emotional memories. This whole write was so deep and gentle too, filled with contemplation of what was and what is.
    A truly lovely read.

  5. What is forgotten no longer stings. So true – so powerful – it wraps up all the disparate images, so realistically portrayed – into a great truth. Well wordled!

  6. I’m with Laurie and Marianne, and love ‘lemon rind of time,’ but the whole poem tells its story so well. If the words weren’t in red, I would not have known this is a wordle poem.

  7. boh poems are so good, you are an excellent writer annell.
    yes, you’ve made me wonder about relatives i met as a child, never to see again.

    and your first poem is very realistic. i have a ‘junk’ drawer which is really fragments
    of my life.

    thank you for your visit to my blog.

  8. I was reading an article about un-cluttering…especially the Junk – drawer. If you are always reaching for your favorite spoon, why have ten spoons? I can relate to all those mysterious keys too. For cars we no longer have, or locks that have been lost. Nicely wordled. I like the second poem too. As I am one of the youngest of the youngest all the ones to ask are mostly going, going, gone.

    Visit when you are able:

  9. I recently revisited the village my grandmother lived all her life in … bought back some lovely memories but also made me feel sad to see how much it had all changed and the people I remembered from that time have all moved on

  10. jumped back over for the magpie…smiles….really interesting….esp that you did not know what happened next but you have that piece of the story and made me think too of an aunt that used to keep us after school…she had the most unusual and interesting house…

    1. I was just a little girl… I loved them and I remember them, I guess I have just been so busy or so self centered, or maybe it is like the dog that went away to the “farm”, but everyone knew where he really went. Is it too late to say I’m sorry? Thanks for your comment Brian. Annell Livingston HC 74 Box 21860 El Prado, NM 87529

  11. Always late is better than never…lovely writing…such a sense of feeling, and inspiration to yield! Thanks!

  12. I so loved reading this poem, Annell. There is such an empty space left when the Aunts and Uncles move away and mom passes on. You captured the void brilliantly and left it hanging(like it really does). Thank you for sharing this. =D

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