Saturday, June 28, 2008

Winter Glow

Today's poem is another example of the kind of subject I write most frequently about ... an ordinary, everyday event or topic ... but perhaps seen in a slightly different way ... as though with "new eyes."

I try to impart that difference ... and I'm greatly rewarded when a reader sees that difference ... or perhaps points out something about the topic that I hadn't quite seen myself.

It's all about the learning process ... and I love it!

The photo? That's me ... somewhere in my teen years ... standing between the grandparents who reared me. The original was rescued by one of my relatives ... passed along to me ... and is now one of my most prized possessions.

The poem:

WINTER GLOW

Cracked, yellowed snapshots

surrender from inside

a musty box

circled with twine, speaking

of times gone, like thin

ribbons of vapor

slowly curling and uncurling

from a neighbor's

chimney

while I sit in this cold

attic space looking

at relatives

and places I never knew,

their images saved,

but stories lost,

beginning to sense a feeling

of warmth, a winter

glow, spreading

over me as I touch the faces

of these strangers again

and close the box.

© 2006

(published in the January, 2006 issue of Capper's)

***

Today's word: warmth

Afterthoughts ...in response to your comments:

Thank you, Helen, for dropping by ... and leaving that generously kind comment. I do find a kinship with old photos ... whether of known family members ... or members I will never be able to identify ... or even those who just may have joined the collection because they were of family friends. And now I see that I have some catching up ... a lot of catching up to do ... on comments posted here on "Chosen Words." I do appreciate them, one and all, and I apologize for falling behind ... again ... on acknowledging them. Patience, please, patience ...

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

For starters...I see which one you take after...an old phrase.  
The one thing I grabbed when I left right before Hurricane Andrew was the big plastic box of photos...some old and some old-old.  I have no idea who many of them were, but I like them.  Some--when I look at them know we fit into the same family.  Your poem was wonderful...the wording and construction, and especially the meaning.