Saturday, June 05, 2010

Where do the gone things go when the child is old enough

Shell sorting on Clifton Beach, January 2010.

Here's one from way back in Summer, when we were forever at the beach. Remember the shells yesterday, here they are being sorted by the gang...

In Childhood, by Kimiko Hahn

things don't die or remain damaged
but return: stumps grow back hands,
a head reconnects to a neck,
a whole corpse rises blushing and newly elastic.
Later this vision is not True:
the grandmother remains dead
not hibernating in a wolf's belly.
Or the blue parakeet does not return
from the little grave in the fern garden
though one may wake in the morning
thinking mother's call is the bird.
Or maybe the bird is with grandmother
inside light. Or grandmother was the bird
and is now the dog
gnawing on the chair leg.
Where do the gone things go
when the child is old enough
to walk herself to school,
her playmates already
pumping so high the swing hiccups?


Chris Wolf said...

Great poem! I'm glad to not be gone anymore, and thank you for greeting me with art and beauty. Did you get a new camera in my absence? The picture is particularly clear to me today!

Roddy said...

I reckon there's a giant suitcase out there with everything that ever disappeared. Maybe less, maybe more.

Carola said...

Hey Kris, your in a very melancholic mood. In Germany it's November Blues, the time when we miss the summer and winter is waiting.

Forever at the beach - fantastic!

Greetings from Suez, Egypt. A release from the heat in Sudan. But off course it is warm here.

Jingle said...

two awards on the bottom,
many thanks!

Happy Saturday!

Kris said...

Chris, it is a pearler. I got a new camera for Christmas!

Roddy, never.

Carola, it is a depressing time of year. Not enough daylight.

Jingle, HOORAH!