2017 April PAD Challenge: Day 19

For today’s prompt, write a memory poem. Pick a memory, any memory. It can be a significant event, but sometimes there are beautiful insignificant moments (that ironically are very significant–quite the paradox). Mine your memories to come up with something good today.

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Here’s my attempt at a Memory Poem:

“where are you now”

the day began with a race through the woods
& ended in a random parking lot near the mall

he joked as the incense smoke filled his van
& she shared what she loved & hated & i loved

them both & still don’t know how we got there
or how we got home but that’s how it was

in those days one surprise after another &
feeling like it would never end or begin

every day an adventure that was destined
to end with him laying across the tracks

& she disappeared somewhere in texas
like smoke that drifts out a window

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Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and author of Solving the World’s Problems (Press 53). He loved his high school days and friends.

Follow him on Twitter @RobertLeeBrewer.

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392 thoughts on “2017 April PAD Challenge: Day 19

  1. Jane Shlensky

    One more try then I quit.

    Revival

    I like the failing elegance in barns, old wood green-tinged
    with time, tin streaked with leaf mold, pollen, rust,
    paint chipped to gray bones, faded as footsteps.

    I like worn tools sitting in doorways of barns and sheds,
    a tractor’s John Deere green muted to mint,
    an Allis Chalmers sun-burned orange, its front grill
    grimacing, curmudgeon on flat tires, voluntary weeds
    winding through its underbelly toward the cracked perch seat.

    I like a rusted hinge better than most, half-hanging doors
    like shirts strung from a peg, pretense of privacy,
    reserve cracked, disapproval gone coy.

    I like how wild things notice when people go,
    how they edge back into the lawns and barnyards,
    how they make do with what’s left standing,
    wrens building in the eaves, bathing in rainwater
    caught in a rusted bucket, possums and raccoons
    nonchalant as shrubs, weeds as pretty as wildflowers,
    springing up willy-nilly, proof of nature’s
    comprehensive caretaking.

    But mostly, I like the lawns and pastures mowed
    around old homesteads, proof that someone living
    cherishes a time. Not enough to work the land,
    resurrect the buildings and equipment, turn the crop
    to profit, but enough to say here’s where I grew up,
    here is what is left of home and the me I was then,
    the evolution of my work ethic, the bones of my bones;
    here is the sweet savor of forsaking and remembrance.

  2. mschied

    The last time I saw you

    It was spring time
    the merry month of May
    and the apple trees were dressed
    in tattered bridal gowns
    faint echoes surrounding
    the girl by your side
    lovely in her lily-white garb
    eyes locked on yours
    as if magnetized for
    all eternity
    while the others
    gazed on the happy couple
    most with joy
    some with tears
    but one with a broken heart
    which, if whole,
    could have rewritten
    the whole narrative

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