Reading Stitches
Books, Poetry, Things I Wish I Knew For Sure, and not all that much about Knitting

Dec 16, 2011


When I grow old, and my past begins to fade,
Will you remind me of how memories are made?
Remind me of how I had always insisted the future is clear and full of hope -
How it’s contained within each tiny moment of the present - and how,
In every wrinkle and sudden movement, my life and my self
Are created, again and again, without end.

When my ideas grow dim and my thoughts get quiet,
Show me the sky and tell me my name and how lucky I’ve been
All my life.  Tell me about how well I’ve known love - and how it was
The trees that taught me the most.  Promise they will teach me again.
Take my hand in yours, and draw pictures for me on the lines that are there -
And trace how my life has joined yours.

When I get sad, remind me of you - how your laughter is all
That is essential for this life.  Tell me how you wake, and how you drag out of bed,
And how your bones will ache - and then, how the smell of brewing coffee
Renews the morning spirit of millions just like us.
Remind me that sad is just a tired survivor, who is only passing through - and,
Because of this, remind me to be kind and patient with my guests.

When I am no longer able to speak, remind me with a smile
That all will be fine.  Don’t linger with worry or fearful regrets -
Remind me of how I worship the moment.  Read me some poems,
Or write me a letter with all of your thoughts, your dreams and your hopes.
Read the words slowly and savor the sound of your voice, in order to remind me
That love is contained in all of the words of the world.

(Thanks, Vicki, for the photo.)

Dec 5, 2011

Found things

Smithsonian Institution Archives

Somewhere, in a shadowed place,
    You have found the hidden me.
I lean toward you, silently,
    To welcome you to me.
You may not know the place yourself,
    But be aware of this:
I hold my secret arms extended -
    In anticipated bliss.