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I write to you
everyday and each night
in my mind —
out of sight, out of love,
out of repetition.
Wearing grooves
through stone along the road,
my words think
they can erase the first set
and grind rather new ones
or wipe them out
altogether, letting me
slide free
off these memories, into
a wonderland anew.
How unlikely
that all is, with my constant
brooding,
carving those grooves deeper still,
assuring that we talk yet
more, and again
day after day, hour upon
the next,
thickening this soup, more,
with words we cannot digest.
So I write to you,
envy stones along the road
sliding free,
and carve our grooves deeper still
with words we cannot digest.
——————
Pushed into this one a bit by Kay Winter’s searching Something Cold Falls.
Poems from in between 
A sad and beautiful and wishful poem that made me want to call my mother and at the same time hope to always be close to my son. The images of words, stones and grooves as you return to them slightly differently each time work so well here and create a rhythm of contemplation – almost like slow-flowing water over stones.
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Thank you! I am glad you thought it worked. I worried my metaphors were putting in some overtime. And hug your son. Never a bad time for that! 🙂
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Great read
Very powerful images
As always Sheldon
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Thank you! I so appreciate the feedback.
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I really like how you use the repetition of words to reinforce the theme–that inability to let go. And that subtle shift in the meanings of “out” in the first stanza. All the “oo” sounds. And how the pivotal third lines could be read through as a poem all their own. So much here.
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Thanks very much — there is a lot in that relationship, too. I feel like it’s one of those tiny cars that clowns keep coming out of. 🙂
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yes, love that metaphor
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parents
are the monuments
our minds
keep growing
~
thank you
for sharing
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So well put! Thanks.
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how hard it is to lose a parent. perhaps writing helps to relieve the pain, but i don’t think it ever fades much.
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Thank you for your kind thoughts.
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