Hard work is the best antidote I know

when memories come unbidden,

when grief rears its fearsome hoary head,

when tears threaten to blur what beauty is still

within my field of vision, narrowed

by walls of memories, a virtual photo album

whose pages I turn without realizing I am doing it,

the pictures fading against my will. I want to see

the faces, the eyes, especially the eyes. The voices,

tracks of lost voices play again and again in my mind

as if someone pushed the repeat button on recordings buried,

unfiled and uncategorized, randomly but cunningly selected

to send the most lethal darts flying to my heart.


And so I work.

I clean and cook and paint until I fall

Exhausted at the end of day.

The voices quiet, the faces fade,

only to return in dreams of what once was.



About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
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