Like Water on the Brain
For my grandfather, Eugene Hallan
I was standing in the garden
when a drop of rain fell upon the back
of my neck, and a shiver shot down my spine.
And isn’t that the way our memories work?
Something jogs the senses-- a smell
or the ache for the familiar
touch of a loved one and the memory
of some event seems to fall from nowhere
into the wellsprings of the mind the way
the earthy scent of these geranium
blossoms bowing down to drink
from this dark pool forming in the mud,
which seem hardly blossoms at all,
but the essence of green itself,
reminds me of a childhood trip
to Seattle to see my grandfather,
along whose home geraniums
grew in profusion, before Dementia
began to restrict the blood flow
to the realm of memory in his brain,
and oxygen tubes wormed their way
to his leaf-veined lungs the way this fallen
blossom has withered and gone gray
as a mind washed clean by darkness.
dear Mr. Nadelson,
ReplyDeleteI am working on an anthology of poems of grief, each accompanied by brief set of reflection questions and intended for use by bereaved individuals and grief groups. Are you interested in the possible inclusion of your poem in this book, and can you give copyright permission? I think it is a fine poem and I found it very moving...I think readers would as well.
Warm Regards, kim Langley