They Carried Your Stories Away
They carried your stories away today damaged and broken: the violin that played the music, of your childhood the books that rested in your hands, the Old Maid we slid around the table, the piece we made standing side by side in your workshop as I listened to your words weave your lessons into my life. I held each in my hand as we said goodbye trying to reach back in time for the story. Years have passed. Your voice fading, the memories now black and white: your music playing in the back room as Grandma and I washed dishes, the day's crossword puzzle in your tired hands, all distant. They carried your stories away today: the books that shaped your life, the projector that helped me to see the world through your eyes. These pieces of your history that have guided my journey. How will I remember without holding them in my hand? © Cathy L. Mere, 2016 It's Poetry Friday! Stop by Random Noodli...