when the world was new (and so was i)

"all is possible," mommy whispers, tucking a curl behind my ear.

eighteen years later i realize she only meant in that moment

and that moment is long past,

almost forgotten, save the subtle scent of lilac

and the fantastic hope

[she could be right].

 

i faintly recall saffron summer days

where i was amazed at the way the trees

were portals to another land

and the feel of their bark upon my hands

was sublime...

transporting me to another place,

another time.

 

the feeling of prickers (almost beautiful)

in the lines they left against my skin,

for their ragged tips were markers

of my journey.

and the dynamic quest i held within.

 

"all is possible," mommy assures me, pushing on my boots

as i press down, wrapped in mittens and earmuffs

and cocoa kisses.

little did i know she meant in that moment

(and that moment is long faded)

save for the lingering wisp of memory

and the marshmallow way

she hugged me.

 

somehow the feel of snow slipping inside my boots

-so uncomfortable- at the time

brings forth remnants of giggling abandon.

snow in hair, falling into eyes,

snow snow everywhere

*sparkling* with the sunshine.

 

"all is possible," mommy whispers once more into my ear,

noting the dark shadows beneath my eyes.

little do i know (this next part)

is up to me,

and if i could only see the magic in the trees

i could try again.

-this time with an appreciation-

for the prickers

against my skin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Phil R Jacobsen]

somehow the feel of snow slipping inside my boots

Fantastic. I grew up in the San Bernardino Mountains and it brought back quite a few memories. I mean, I know it's about a mother and daughter but I could still relate without questioning myself too much.

Phil

[Silent Pacer]

Great imagery in this poem. I really like it. I also really like the message it conveys. Great write. I specially like how you discribe the simplicity of childhood, and all that once was. Well done.

[Valentine]

Such a true write..If only what our parents told us when we were being raised was true..But we have to learn for ourselves and a lot of the time fall on our faces..That huts a bit more than a picker..God bless..valentine

[SweetPeachesAlways]

I love this! Yes! This is poetry in its absolute best form, pure liquid delight! Flowing rhythmically, dancing along the paper, tantalizing the reader, beckoning from one line to another, "come on, keep up"...
Oh yeah, I love this! Another one for the vaults. Oh snap! Slam dunk with this one! Applause!

[papaed]

I think you still see the magic in the trees. This poem is magical. It works on several levels.
Oh, if only we could recapture the innocence and hope of youth!
and oh, if were only true that all things are possible.
papaed

[Ancient My Enemy]

I love your discription of life through a child's eyes. I can immediately picture my own mother, down on one knee, zipping up my coat before I go outside to play. The last stanza seems to take place much later in life, and though there are certain things that can only be appreciated as an adult, the cost tends to be the belief in and the ability to perform magic - which tends to be the sole province of children.
This is what I take from your poem, anyway.
It could be argued, by the way, that your poetry is your own personal form of magic. So perhaps you haven't lost it after all. ;)
Beautifully done, and thank you for writing it.

[Silvia - Scribo, Ergo S..]

"... the lingering wisp of memory
and the marshmallow way
she hugged me" ..... bittersweet memories, melancholic and muffled by that painful yearning for that childhood protection we have long lost ... for that time, when all one had to do is scream "Mummy!" and all would be well.

Wonderfully written, subtle and sweet, with just that touch of bitterness of such memories.

Love it. xxx