The sky is blue.
Not a cloud in sight.
The neighborhood is silent except for the swell and retreat of cicadas in song, the occasional barking of fenced-in dogs, the passing of a car in no particular hurry. A private plane overhead banks and soars.
The air is surprisingly sweet and fresh, as though some horrific heat has suddenly lifted. It is a trick of the senses or it is real, a desire for euphoria or its tender letdown.
* * *
I sleep poorly and wake often, with memories that circulate as if I cannot help but press rewind. I try to sleep again and scenes replay, stamped as sharply as if recorded yesterday.
This is unfinished business and all too familiar.
* * *
I look for poetry I once unearthed, and find that it is missing.
I look for poetry by another pen, and find myself without a hand.
Still, I look for poetry.
I leave you to fill in the details, withholding my own by conscious choice.
* * *
We honor the hours that rob us of innocence. We pinpoint them, we chart them, we travel their routes in the hope of regaining ground. We forget there are no absolutes, only the need for recurrent emerging.
* * *
We cradle ourselves in personal histories, in cultural commentaries, in the shadows of self-selecting testimonies. We settle for tropes though we long for a time of rhyme or reason.
One thing I’ve realized today, commemorating this day in a foreign country, is that every culture has days like this, where the loss is unfathomable, where the memories linger, where the anniversaries dig into wounds that aren’t going to entirely heal, ever. This is our day. May we always find the empathy to comfort when it’s another country’s turn.
Like you, Stacia, I’ve lived in other countries and traveled abroad as well. It opens one’s eyes to many ways of life, and what wars of all sorts have wrought in human history. Some wounds never heal, as you say. But I wish we were more capable of seeing the collective nature of suffering, and equally, the simplicity of essentials that people all over the world are seeking – to love their families, to provide for them, to feel safe.
Peace.
Peace and Love
And to us all, Bruce. Thank you.
“…long for a time of rhyme or reason.” Love this post BLW. It speaks so much.
So reflecting and insightful. Constant, recurring emerging is a perfect description; for us as a nation…and as individuals.
Poetic and soothing Wolf. This is one of my favorite posts by you.
Absolutely beautiful.
Beautiful tribute my friend. I really loved this.
I want to recommend the film Man on Wire to anyone who hasn’t seen it.