Boxes of my past.
Glissando moments of
emotion and possibility
before reality crystalized
into today.
Mother, resolving...
before the inevitable separation,
the genesis of my benediction
the font of her self doubt and blame.
Unrealized beauty.
Husband, embracing...
before life abruptly departed,
the shared metamorphosis
the joy of loving imperfection.
Unrealized union.
Children, becoming...
before the accusations
the sharp cuts and angry pain
the failures of love.
Unrealized legacy.
Friends, harmonizing...
before the sense of betrayal
the dereliction of confluence
the loss of felicity.
Unrealized synergy.
When did love become
a commodity to be wrapped
in shiny paper and adorned
with some imprimatur?
Consensus is not love.
Yet... cherished shards
of love
of struggle
of acceptance
also populate this time capsule.
I carry my mementos
of alternative contingencies,
a map of what might have been
to guide me through what is.
Unrealized humanity.
© 2017 Joan Cichon All Rights Reserved
Glissando moments of
emotion and possibility
before reality crystalized
into today.
Mother, resolving...
before the inevitable separation,
the genesis of my benediction
the font of her self doubt and blame.
Unrealized beauty.
Husband, embracing...
before life abruptly departed,
the shared metamorphosis
the joy of loving imperfection.
Unrealized union.
Children, becoming...
before the accusations
the sharp cuts and angry pain
the failures of love.
Unrealized legacy.
Friends, harmonizing...
before the sense of betrayal
the dereliction of confluence
the loss of felicity.
Unrealized synergy.
When did love become
a commodity to be wrapped
in shiny paper and adorned
with some imprimatur?
Consensus is not love.
Yet... cherished shards
of love
of struggle
of acceptance
also populate this time capsule.
I carry my mementos
of alternative contingencies,
a map of what might have been
to guide me through what is.
Unrealized humanity.
© 2017 Joan Cichon All Rights Reserved
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