She makes that steep climb, parting

the gentle man’s garments guarding

the entrance to those dusty rafters

where memories are crammed

into rubbermaid

pandora boxes


She’s been avoiding this opening, for they tumble

en masse when she reaches for one

and her allergies always admonish

But persistent requests from her darlings demand

she comply.


Life is still enough

now, she presumes

there is space enough

 now, for what comes


She’d remembered the chaos, this

is what kept her at bay

after all, for they have been sifted

and sorted time

and again, so that 1978 comes stuck fast to 2001

as she searches, forgetting

what it was she came seeking as

hours become days, lost

in those images,




Even the photographs ripped

bring a smile

remembering how broken she was,

her bespectacled gaze wizened to see

herself as she was

without shame


And tears, not of pain, but of joy

finally flow, blessing

this breaking

of birth.





1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Anonymous
    Oct 29, 2016 @ 17:51:54


    Liked by 1 person


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M.C. Reardon


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