TURNING

In Memphis, a long time ago, cold was a new

adventure of hunting on my uncle’s farm

for rabbits and squirrel, fried up by Mama

and set steaming on the kitchen table where

talk of the day’s tramp in the dead woods, icy creeks,

and hurting fingers, froze as memories I still enjoy.

It’s the first crisp day of this late autumn;

the edge of cool cuts my skin and propels

a shiver through the interior dark. Hackberry

leaves rain cankerous yellow through the shafts of

a thinning glare just now topping the mountain,

a promise of things not to come in this late hour.

The first crisp day portends something duller

than I like. Some kind of loneliness not aligned

with friends or family; the looming parties

laden with candy and gifts are not the symbols they

used to be. They do nothing to ease the pain

of a thousand cuts too shallow to see.

Reviews

[A.H.]

this is like going back in time, nothing beats that feeling. pure nostalgia. the images, the memories here, the warmth and the fun.. all coming together like a harmony. old times fade and some new memories are made. but some bitter sweet still lingers on.. beautiful write, enjoyed reading this, Vol. Thanks for sharing!

[Vol]

And Thank You, A.H. for your kind words, and for being a reader of poetry...
Vol

[A.H.]

you're most welcome, Vol. my pleasure.

[Michael Sun Bear]

You immediately grasped my attention and I was captivated by the story. My second read through I lingered over your language so well written. Then you left me wondering about the thousand cuts. I too bear scars of many a wound; mine were inflicted by my parents.

[Vol]

Michael,
Man, this is weird. I have no means by which to understand parental abuse at any level. My family was certainly not like a 50s sit com, but no one drank, no one lost their temper, I knew if I were caught doing something wrong, justice was fair, punishment swift and painful, but harmless too,
it's why I'm not in prison or dead...
Vol
I wrote a poem once about how if i could go back in time to meet Adam and Eve, I'd have to grab her and plant a big ole sloppy kiss right on her lips as an offering of thanksgiving. WHO wants to reach the end having never lived when every scar is a story we need to hear, so our kids can write about something else

[Lorry]

Isn't it funny that memory changes our way of thinking about a bad time where we suffered from cold and lack of modern doodad's in our life, where the biting wind cut us in two and the rain made everything smell of moss and it somehow becomes fond recollections the more time passes.
Those rose tinted specs at work no doubt, but we do go on about them like they were the happiest days of out lives.
I'm never amazed when friends get together and recall the most mundane event, like it was amazing just to be there to see it, growing fib by fib on each retelling until catching baggie minnies in a stream with nets on poles becomes Moby Dick like in its exaggerations!
Yet how we laugh on each retelling! 😃

[Betty Hermelee]

I like the way you structured this poem Vol...it begins on a bright note with fond memories of yesteryear...then it becomes the real you...a sad and lonely mood...it seems you are a cutter, the outside world affecting it perhaps.....and the years when growing up with girlfriends and parties...."They do nothing to ease the pain of a thousand cuts too shallow to see"....I really feel the pain in this piece...nicely penned
Warmly, B

[Vol]

Betty,
Thank you, Betty, You are quite perceptive...
Turning seventy-five was a hammer to my head... I don't care how young I feel, how passionate my thoughts, how precise my perceptions, or how much I still want to learn, I don't care how you slice it, 75 is OLD!

[Betty Hermelee]

Dear Vol...do not fret as I am older than you!! Yet I don't feel my age, except for some arthritis...which we all inevitably acquire....
my pleasure to read you work!
Warmly, B

[Vol]

Cool.......

[K. Louis]

This poem seems to be about nostalgia and the bittersweet feeling of growing up. It's about leaving behind childhood innocence and facing the complexities of adulthood. It touches on themes of loneliness and disconnection, which feels really relatable. I think the imagery is very strong in this, especially with the Hackberry leaves and the description of the crisp day in autumn. It helps to set a tone and atmosphere for the rest of the poem.

[Vol]

K Louis,
I read once that there is quantum evidence that the past is as indeterminate as the future... Some even believe there is no other time but "NOW;" or that time is not linear, that everything is entangled with this instant, we only perceive a flow out of self preservation for our consciousness...
I think it is important to stay as connected to my own tiny dot of who I am, and what I know and what I feel, and what I believe are my memories.
Vol

[K. Louis]

It sounds like you're really diving into the idea of being present in the moment and letting go of the linear concept of time. Thank you for sharing your insights.-K.

[Poetic Beauty]

I liked reading about this hunting adventure and mamma frying up rabbit and squirrel. The sitting around the table shaking off the cold.

[Vol]

PB,
Ha... it was a wide table, and deep, three garden fresh vegetables at least, potatoes, sometimes ham or beef from the farm, cornbread, homemade butter, cobblers... the thing i remember most is my grandfather always got the squirrel's head... he'd crack it open and pick the brain out, and pop it in his mouth... still makes me queasy.
Vol