Memory swoops on gentle wings,
landing softly,
its suddenly heavy weight surprising you
as it lands, claws cold, on your shoulders.
Chest pains
brought me to a doctor
and after cold hands
and hard stethoscope
and breathing in and out,
in and out, in
and out,
the ECG followed.
For this, part of my chest had to be shaved
and my necklace
had to be removed,
the second time in six years
I have taken it off,
the second time
since my mother
gave it to me
after it was taken gently
from my father’s forever still neck.
The second time.
As the nurse talked to me
about weather and recessions,
news and reality(less) TV shows
the cobwebs of memory
enwrapped me,
deafened me,
sent shards of cold through me.
When the ECG had done
what ECG’s do
I sat there,
waiting for the doctor
to read the spider lines of my heart,
the passing of my father
fresh, so fresh
in my mind.
Each person is but a grain of sand resting beside the sea. This thought sets the tone for Jill Eisnaugle’s latest poetry collection, Beside Still Waters.
Share
Print
Save
Follow
