Lost

By now, I suppose these weekly poetic forays need little introduction. Just know that this, too, is the result of a poetry challenge asking participants to describe a moment in time using "Once upon a time" or other fairy tale language. The prompt also urged the writer not to fear the dark or the light subjects: simply write truthfully.

The Dangers of Sitting

Once upon a time,

There was a young girl

Who lived in ignorance of

What it really meant

To lose –

Not just for a day,

Not just for a season,

Not just for a year or two –

Someone who was, to her,

The earth and sky and sea.

Then one bright October day,

She came home from school,

Tired, sweaty and smiling,

And found her mother and father,

Faces grave.

They asked her to sit on the soft floral couch,

So they could tell her that Granddaddy

Had fulfilled a life-long dream:

He had finally seen the Panama Canal,

Risen slowly through her mighty locks,

Told his true love he was ready to go home,

And, within a day or two,

Sailed from the sea into eternity.

There she sat, hands sweating,

Numb, confused, disbelieving,

Backpack abandoned on the floor,

Wishing she could stand up again,

And run from the knowing

That came with the sitting.

Wishing she could somehow go back –

Just a day,

Just a season,

Just a year or two –

And, clinging to his familiar hand,

Anchor him to the earth.

Lost

Once upon a time,

On a bitter November afternoon,

I saw your smiling faces

Through the grime and din of the subway.

You, the

Loving mother

Devoted father

Sister

Brother

Only child

Wonderful friend.

Your smiles surrounded me,

And all of us engaged in the

uncharacteristically quiet bustle

from dark place to dark place

aboard the stinking, screeching trains

tunneling through the dirt.

Your eyes greeted me at every turn.

As I hugged my bag closer to me,

And tugged at my suddenly too-hot scarf.

I burned to look at you, to stare.

But I was strong, I didn’t cry,

I simply watched you watching me.

That is… until I saw that one –

The single face among the myriad faces

plastered to every column,

every wall –

The one with a joyful red scrawl:

“Found!”

I saw that one and could no longer ignore

What all of your unmarred faces cried:

“Lost!”

All of you are lost.

You, the

Loving mother

Devoted father

Sister

Brother

Only child

Wonderful friend

Last seen in the vicinity of

Two tall towers that once stood

Proud vigil over the streets

of a city that promised the American dream,

and witnessed the nation’s nightmare.

For those of you who are interested, one of my complete poems from last week and a snippet from another was featured at High Calling Blogs.

The photo at the top of the post is a double-exposed gem we found when cleaning out my grandparents' house a few years ago. It features me, young and contemplative, and my grandfather. He passed away when I was 16, so this ghostly composite must have been at least 6 or 8 years old when the moment described arrived.