she covers herself in blankets her Mamma made whether twenty years ago
or just last week
the thought of safety comforts me
every morning there’s a whistle at eight o’clock sharp
in this town where she
was raised
the example of reliability soothes me
And then, just like that
there’s a ceiling fan she cannot figure out how to shut off
its a reminder of her inability
while in the bedroom
criticism flows far too easily for me
stepping out into the world with nature surrounding her senses
there’s a peace released
acceptance implied
worthiness arrives to remind me
After pondering your posting here I decided I reread an old poem of mine. Then I decided to repost it. I hope you will see some connection? Or enjoy reading it at least. π
https://bennaga.wordpress.com/2018/02/16/masks-of-the-crustacean-republished/
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I’ve often had a poem trigger an old poem of mine. I relate. I shall read it, Ben. Thank you
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Your first line reminded me of my mom today on the 6th anniversary of her passing. She used to sew, knit, make anything with fabric, yarn, and needles. You took me back to my childhood days where she provided love and security. How profound also that a ceiling fan can provoke self-criticism, yet, self-worth evolves in the end. Love it, Audrey! β€
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Thank you for seeing into my poem, Lauren. I’m thrilled this poem brought you cherished memories. I’m sorry for your loss. β‘
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Audrey, I love how you’ve intertwined two perspectives – she and me – to form one coherent poem that says so much in its two lines of thought.
(BTW, when I was growing up we had a noon whistle we could hear a mile away. It signaled lunchtime for workers down in the lumberyard. I assumed that everyone in the world had noon whistles. Your poem took me back!)
β€οΈ
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Thank you, Betty. So happy I could bring back some memories for you. β‘
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Dementia?
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Such a surprise angle, Willow. Thank you
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That was how I saw it, what was your view, I mean it is your poem πΉ
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I’m glad our sleepy island doesn’t have a whistle. The fan is a mystery. Must be annoying too.
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The first time the kids heard the whistle at school they wondered why no one seemed concerned, then they remembered spending summers hearing it and calmed down. City kids… π
The fan is my enemy. Either the light is on and the fan is flying or they are both off. No exceptions.
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A creature from another dimension I’m sure.
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π
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Love the idea of snuggling under a homemade blanket and a reliable whistle making sure everybody is at work by 8 o’clock!
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I’ve enjoyed both nearly my entire life. The whistle took some getting reacquainted with… π
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Let there be no doubt!
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Maybe that’s a chant I should begin my day with, Dan. π
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