the art of remembering sarah jane

i remember

that last frozen grey morning.

all my friends 

waking to familiar belonging,

our hands and laughter

all tied up in the patted roundness of

a single snowman.

beneath the enormity of night,

morning waved stark white sheets in cold wind.

they clapped like thunder

as life threw a dark ribbon of pavement 

before us. 

we were gone before 

the last star disappeared.  before

anyone woke with a pounding red thrill in their hearts 

to return to each other

and all that 

snow.

 

connecticut for california

in the half dark morning.

i leaned across the back seat to

watch life as i knew it,  grow smaller and smaller

retreating from the dark window like a silver necklace pulled from view.

strange how fast everything

we know can

disappear.

 

 

 

tennesse.

look out mountain,

pockets full of arrowheads

waiting in musky drawers. 

old train tracks blowing past  

the textile mill grandfather managed

all his working life, never missing a single day.

my father rolled our car to a slow stop.

he looked so fondly up to the window of his youth.

something filled his voice,  thickening it like honey in water.

words so golden with bright longing,

they formed stairs that took him back,

so perfectly back.

"we use to walk past these tracks after school

and stand right below 

that window where dad worked.

he always knew when we would go by and threw

us coins...copper, that rained down to jangle and bounce

like a hard summer rain at our eager feet.

we scrambled for them and flew off waving goodbye 

for the soda fountain and penny candy".

 

 

grandmother.

her never cut hair in a halo of braids round

and round the crown of her head.

her kitchen, enormous,

as were her meals.

together at the round oak table

where all her now grown children once labored over homework,

celebrated birthdays,

and when times were lean,

hoped for that last piece of corn bread.

every christmas

an old round tin arrived from that

chattanooga kitchen all tangled up with the smell

of time, wrapped in brown paper,

tied with tired

twine.

 

 

for as long as she lived,

they arrived like the last chorus to an ancient song.

her handwriting on the brown paper

wore away the years

until it barely recognized itself.

fruitcake dense with the work of her hands,

pecans from her trees.

trees where my brother and i fed squirrels

kneeling together, quiet for the chance.

almost like a prayer,

beside the long covered porch on the edge of memory,

we had to leave too soon.

 

 

endless road stops, the unfolding and refolding of maps,

sibling quarrels, car games,

 a journal within reach to draw pictures

of what i was sure waited.....

open windows without screens,

begging me to reach out and pick from the 

abundance of always blooming flowers.

warm night air whispering 

under the hem of stars.

a new neighborhood 

to wake up in the 

company of

friends.

 

california.

sarah jane and her husband dan.

ancient, childless relatives on my mother's side.

we filled their san diego bungalow 

with the clamor of family life, as our house was built.

she filled my hands with needle and thread,

the endless possibilities of imagination, cloth, and creation.

she filled my heart with the miracle of making,

the grace of sharing, the mercy of caring.

 

 

for one languid summer,

i lost myself in the sanctuary of their yard.

where abalone shells nested in the roots of fragrant trees

...that tossed their white flowers

spilling over me, over me...

the iridescent shell pools catching the warm air,

the tiny flowers,

the quiet voice of  solitary yesterdays.

where life held me suspended like a bookmark between chapters,

while sarah jane embossed my heart in the perfect art of being.

before i dove once again,

flat out into the gregarious life of growing up.

 

 

sarah jane 

i will never know

who needed the other more,

the childless wife or the friendless child.

but i  know this.

she was the open window, the warm air. she was the abundance

of always blooming flowers.

she was shelter and love that never left me,

kindness, mercy and compassion on

 my road to belonging.

***

the art of remembering 

 

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Comments

[Carol]

Absolutely wonderful post and photos are excellent ~ such endearing memories and as always so well expressed ~ (A Creative Harbor)

[somepinkflowers]

{{ what a dear tribute
to your sarah jane ...
i feel i knew her, too,
by
your fond words.

isn't life grand!

every morning
i fall in love all over again
with the possibilities
open for the new day!

i just know
you do the same thing! }}

[Rachel@Geekunorthodox]

Truly, positively beautiful remembrance!

[Cheryl's Excellent Adventure]

You fill my heart...my cup runneth over. Your remembrances are steadfast and true. God bless your full heart.

[peggy gatto]

Oh so many memories come pouring out, so lovely to read while I am drawn into each one. I have memories and so often I scurry through life with out taking time to enjoy the memory, really take time to go back and explore and write words to keep.......
Thank you!

[Paula Scott: Molokai Girl Studio]

Wow. A very profound, wow. If there ever was such a thing.
Such a powerful piece of writing that is so full of the softness of love and warmth and magical memories.
A beautiful tribute!

[Delphyne]

What a beautiful piece of writing, Rebecca...

[gemma]

What wonderful gifts sarah jane gave you.
xx

[gloria]

Such a beautiful tribute. Wonderful writing and very heartfelt. Thank you for that.

[Lea]

I am so glad for this window into the Sarah Jane of your heart... to know you through this memory, this life sustaining wellspring that gives now to all of us, all these years later... Rebecca, I am just barely beginning, over and over again, to see how precious this remembering is... thank you. XO

[rinda]

What a beautiful post. Thank you for hosting this meme. I wrote my first remembrance today.
Rinda

[Ana]

as usual Rebecca, you manage to bring tears to my eyes.

[Lenora]

Memories warm you soul, feed ours, succinct snapshot lending a piece of your heart to ours, endearing us too, to our Sarah Jane. Blessings. L

[Sue Fox]

I have been away my love, not up for much blogging just now, maybe later, but to pause on your words again, remembering, fills me with gratitude for your presence in my life. x

[judie]

Beautiful tribute to Sara Jane and wonderful memories you have. I read every word and devoured every photo. Thanks for this pleasure.

[stephanie]

These memories of both personal and universal stories are creating such beautiful bonds.

Your Sara Jane, I feel the warmth of these summer mornings so strongly from your loving descriptions!

x...x

[Poet Laundry]

This is so gorgeous Rebecca, from start to finish. A beautiful, riveting read on so many levels. So much poetry in it. Love it.

[N2]

Lovely writing and pictures, Rebecca. So fitting that your photos are in B&W. Thanks for posting this. x0 N2