I Can Imagine
to find I have become older than my mother,
and I can imagine her not noticing.
I can imagine her admiring my cane
without wondering at the need.
I can imagine her looking out the window
at the street and waiting for my return,
even though I stand beside her, waiting for hers.
I can imagine her in a lush green meadow
eating bowls of cereal with butterflies in her hair.
I can imagine her memories waiting at the door,
hoping this day she will let them in.
I can imagine them dying of hunger and neglect
amid a pile of brittle leaves, and a curious cat
sniffing at their pungent remains.
I can imagine an ancient tree where there once
was none, and I can imagine words
of a forgotten language carved into its bark.
I can imagine reading them, and I can imagine
being the only person who knows what they mean.
I can imagine the familiar hand that held the knife
that echoed the spirit that inspired the breath that
warmed the lips that uttered the sound that spoke
the joy that moved the heart to direct the hand
to press harder, harder, harder. . . .
May 30, 2006
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