Wednesday Memoir Group

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Wednesday, October 29, 2020

Illia‚Äôs prompt –

Love After Love

by Derek Walcott

The time will come 
when, with elation 
you will greet yourself arriving 
at your own door, in your own mirror 
and each will smile at the other’s welcome, 

and say, sit here. Eat. 
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart 
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you 

all your life, whom you ignored 
for another, who knows you by heart. 
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, 

the photographs, the desperate notes, 
peel your own image from the mirror. 
Sit. Feast on your life. 

October 21st, 2020


Jane Kenyon – 1947-1995

There’s just no accounting for happiness,
or the way it turns up like a prodigal
who comes back to the dust at your feet
having squandered a fortune far away.
And how can you not forgive?

You make a feast in honor of what
was lost, and take from its place the finest
garment, which you saved for an occasion
you could not imagine, and you weep night and day
to know that you were not abandoned,
that happiness saved its most extreme form
for you alone.

No, happiness is the uncle you never
knew about, who flies a single-engine plane
onto the grassy landing strip, hitchhikes
into town, and inquires at every door
until he finds you asleep mid-afternoon
as you so often are during the unmerciful
hours of your despair.

It comes to the monk in his cell.
It comes to the woman sweeping the street
with a birch broom, to the child
whose mother has passed out from drink.

It comes to the lover, to the dog chewing
a sock, to the pusher, to the basketmaker,
and to the clerk stacking cans of carrots
in the night.

    It even comes to the boulder
in the perpetual shade of pine barrens,
to rain falling on the open sea,
to the wineglass, weary of holding wine.

Wednesday, July 1, 2020

“Answers” by Mary Oliver

If I envy anyone it must be
My grandmother in a long ago
Green summer, who hurried
Between kitchen and orchard on small
Uneducated feet, and took easily
All shining fruits into her eager hands.

That summer I hurried too, wakened
To books and music and circling philosophies.
I sat in the kitchen sorting through volumes of answers
That could not solve the mystery of the trees.

My grandmother stood among her kettles and ladles.
Smiling, in faulty grammar,
She praised my fortune and urged my lofty career:
So to please her I studied – but I will remember always
How she poured confusion out, how she cooled and labeled
All the wild sauces of the brimming year.

Wednesday, June 24, 2020

Blowing Bubbles in North Beach, Tony Orser
Blowing Bubbles in North Beach, Tony Orser

Illia’s Prompt –

BUBBLES by Carl Sandburg

Two bubbles found they had rainbows on their curves.
They flickered out saying:
“It was worth being a bubble just to have held 
that rainbow thirty seconds.” 

Write about a “rainbow” time in your life. 

June 17, 2020

Dear People, I found a poem (which I altered a bit), written by me long ago and I don’t have any recollection of its birth! During these unusual times, it feels appropriate. Let it be a prompt to whatever is waiting to be born from you. Enjoy the journey, as well as the outcome.  
Thank you for appearing on Wednesday mornings. Your technicolor selves brighten my days. 
With Love, Illia
childhood twirls rainbows into Maypoleskeeps rhythm with the rustle of leavescauses sunflowers to turn their headsto listen to wind’s whispered messages
childhood knows without a timepiece how long it takesto float a twig down a shaded rippled streamand how many minnows’ ice cold kisses makes one’s bare toes curl and tingle
childhoodknows why butterflies wear vibrant colorsfor less than a single speckled seasonviews night’s umbrellas as they hold up starswhile raspberries turn from green to red
childhood senses which berries signal danger thus avoids the taste of death before it is timeand know which carry sun-grown sweetnessto assuage cravings during late afternoons childhood senses how many fairies can liveunder single toadstool without being crossand why frogs and toads often live on opposite sides of the mirror. 

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