Stepping out and walking up the hill over
ice-crusted snow and through the blessed darkness,
Colored tree lights shine and blur the edges of girls
with their crayons hunched over paper, boys
with blocks and toy trucks scattered across the floor.
Talking menu, the women drink tea and
hug the little ones 'tween their petty sufferings
Swigging home-brew, the men speak of glaciers
and shipwrecks and skillful hunts yet to come.
On our way back down the hill
when round flakes of snow sway to the ground without shattering,
memories flood our moonlit minds.
We see a future shorter than our past,
knowing each new amusement and every stale resentment
will shiver away and die suddenly, as though we never expected it to,
in one miraculous breath of many.
It is fitting that tonight we watch a movie, Dr. Zhivago
a decades long fairy tale of sorts
where good and evil and destiny and all reconciliations
awaken the human dramas that unfold
from birth til' death.
we claim the paradox.
we make love and feel the sorrow, taste the gladness and
we share the disappointments
shamelessly, of our own diminutive lives.
Writing this poem awakened an old memory of the song, Mother Russia, by the band, Renaissance. A beautiful classic; almost 9.5 minutes long, but worth the time to fully appreciate Annie Haslam's legendary clear and elegant vocal range. Mother Russia and I Think of You are both from the Renaissance album titled, "Turn of the Cards". I wore out playing I Think of You in the early eighties when my husband was away from home for long periods, working on the slope; however...you can't really wear out a song as gorgeous as this; books and music and art are meant to be worn thin...that's how they heal hearts.