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Jan 142011
 

by Anne Whitehouse


So much has passed

through my mind,

gotten lost, or buried

in the litter of years,

in a drawer shut for so long

that when it was opened,

it exhaled a musty smell

as if an animal had once lived there.


Memories reveal

emotions that bind me,

rooted, yet constantly shifting

like grasses still tender and green

in the fields of October.

Shining in sunlight,

they tease and beckon

before the frosts.


In astonishing silence,

the bee lit on my lap,

its velvety coat striped

black-and-yellow.

I meant to brush it off,

but changed my mind.

With the barest touch,

it rose up and away.

  One Response to “The Past”

  1. I loved this, as i do all of Anne Whitehouse’s writings. She is indeed very talented has a way with words.