[Sunday Scribblings prompts us this week with "pilgrimage." My dictionary defines the word as "a pilgrimage is a journey to a place that has religious or emotional significance."]
The Return
She hates going back there,
to the place of her birth,
but she can't help returning,
like the tongue to a sore tooth.
She packs her dwindling collection
of bright memories, then sees
them dim and tarnish with news
of each dead friend and closed store.
At the lunch with friends, hoping
to share news of children and
grandchildren and vacations,
she endures a recitation of obituaries.
She can't wait to drive away again,
vowing not to return
to the place filling up
with tombstones of her past.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
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6 comments:
I love the comparison of the tongue to the sore tooth and the imagery of the place filling up with tombstones. Well written.
Thanks, Mary.
Poignant poetry! Filling with tombstones of her past - an unforgettable image.
Hi, Sue. Thanks.
"She packs her dwindling collection
of bright memories"
Love that line!
A wonderful, bittersweet poem!
I like the new look to your blog!
Hi, Linda. Thanks.
I'm still tweaking the blog format, but by-and-large I'm OK with it.
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