Wednesday, April 28, 2010

End of a Line

The grandfather clock’s
ponderous ticking trails me past
the photograph-lined hall,
memorial to mother and father,
their mothers and fathers
and theirs before them,
and so on.

And so on, sepia-stained and
scalloped-edged tangibilities.

Zoom to present tense:
mom up to her elbows
in flour, picking gardenias from
her verdant bed, clad
in wedding white, holding
an infant, squalling pink-cheeked.

Me, ten years past her passing,
crying unseen tears, draped
in baby-blue satin,
carnation corsage tickling
my virginal neck, mortarboards
and sheepskins portending
my future more
than the hand held,
my once-love.

Through the wood-stove’s
crackle and hiss, daddy snores
under his gold-spun afghan,
reliable as time, and so on,
the hallway wall, austere eyes frozen,
snapshots of a history, all
funnel down to a single entity,
an end product.
A deliverable.

Yet here am I,
no more or less
than myself.


Prompt: end of the line

The inspiration for this poem came from the introspections of Phoebe, one of my characters in my novels.

Two more days of poetry.

Peace, Linda


  1. such a wonderful introspection of life, will, nature and being...

    Loved this: the hallway wall, austere eyes frozen

    For some reason, I always thought of REALLLLY old pics were creepy. This reminded me of that

  2. good for you for pushing yourself to write poetry. It definitely forces you to think creatively.

  3. Excellent introspection, a look down the line of the pieces and people that make up the individual.

    Just two days to go!

  4. Wonderful commentary on the bits and pieces that make up a life.
    The "ponderous ticking" is exactly how I've always viewed a grandfather clock. Beautiful, Linda!

  5. One of my favorite haunts. Love your Pure and Phoebe excerpts.

  6. Almost the end of the line for you, Linda. Just two more days. I posted a haiku today in your honor.

    Happy birthday! Hope your mom is doing well enough for a little celebration.

  7. This poem starts leads off with the ticking of the grandfather clock and flows from there.

    Introspection, indeed.

    I've been enjoying your poetry this month. Good work on posting every single day, especially since you've been hard at work on your novel. I hope that is going well for you.

  8. I always love pieces that look back on the past, how our present eyes see everything so differently, the bittersweet truths, and the atmosphere that shaped our perceptions.
    Very nice penning, Linda.