Morning Poem, June 7, 2016


There were times when memory was rekindled
Amplified, louder than before.
He knew the triggers, some of them, anyway
A few of the old songs; just the right shade of blue
But in the early morning, this early morning
Something else, he knew not what
Maybe the shape of the mug in his hand, maybe the call of the jay
Prompted him awake in a way that he had not been
For fifty years
And he remembered then like it was yesterday
He could sense the smell in the air then
And feel the strenth of his hands
That he had taken then for granted
And he remembered hope unbridled, undiminished.

Copyright 2016

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