Parts of Me

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You may see a wreck
Pointless pile of rubble
But watch where you step

Soft
Hard
Color
Life

Memories survive here
Beautiful palette of wild
Each particle a part of me

You may see rocks or meaningless pebbles. I see generations of my family walking this trail together. The dust you feel on your cheek was made by my grandfather’s boots. Men who worked countless hours to bring variegated boulders off mountains and creeks.

This muddy ground is the true stability I craved, as a young girl who needed to feel safe, and not just a vessel to walk upon. You may see weak or wild grass, which you consider far too thin. I noticed the movement of the wind, as it traveled the terrain of these mountains, a wild strength on its approach. Offering a young woman security and comfort, while she embraced a protective sway.

You notice simple yellow flowers, maybe considering their lack of generous beauty, before dismissing their worth. I remember a bouquet of brave flowers growing and welcoming me each summer, a spectacular vision for my homecoming. Allowing me the peace to believe that lingering sorrows would surely be eliminated here, as I familiarized myself with seeing love. Wildflowers promising I’d shine once again, if I would only breathe and recall their ability to thrive.

This is what I recall when I look at this patch someone else might find insignificant. It fixed me.  For those who see what I see, I will take your pain as mine.

29 thoughts on “Parts of Me”

  3. Wonderful words in the poem, but it is your story and writing below that holds so much great emotion… Life holds such important memories that never go away, and “The dust you feel on your cheek was made by my grandfather’s boots” is just proof that the people we love and miss will always be by our side no matter where we roam. Well done ~

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  6. Beauty comes in different clothes, and not all that is pleasing to the eye is also regal and magnificent. If I may borrow a phrase, there is a God for small things, isn’t there? Those flowers are precious to bees, for the bounty they give and yes, to me as a reminder of how easily the hand of man is erased. We pass like a cheap fashion statement across a world that will outlast all our memories.

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  8. I don’t see rubble there, Audrey — in fact, I think it’s lovely. I wouldn’t necessarily want to walk on those small stones (they look a bit treacherous!), but I so love the wildflowers, open spaces, trees, and mountain line. I can see where you’d draw strength from being surrounded with such beauty!

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  9. I would give anything to shoot a video there! That is just awesome scenery!!

    The poem was beautiful. Most people, I think, are wrecks and piles of rubble. That’s just how it’s done. But it’s not the end of the story, you know.

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  13. There’s tenderness in this exploration of your roots and associations, Audrey,
    and admirable honesty as well but you are a little hard on yourself as you move to find – as we all have to do in some way – your real self.

    The writing is quite striking.

    Big hugs

    jf

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