Photography by Carlo Pautasso
I have reached the age of essays
Home from the quest years,
Beyond the fairy tale lacuna,
And so, restlessness catches my eye.
A wake of impatience in the bookstore,
A boy standing on a dark, wooden bench
In front of a window, which is also stained
With whatever lining blocks the sun--
He bounces his soccer ball against floor and glass
And asks
Whether his mother played soccer?
Whether she was any good.
Perhaps he's seven? Eight?
We've been listening to essays in the car
Driving down to see my nephew
And I pause, wait to hear the answer,
Even though I don't know either the boy
Or his grandfather. Who tells him yes,
She played soccer, year-round, indoors in the winter
And that she was good, at least in his opinion.
The boy asks another question
But impatience has caught us,
My nephew has perused the robot kits,
We've already had lunch, there's an upcoming "next"
He's well into the age of quest
And, for him, there is still the possibility
Of someone to get lost in the stories
He brings back.
So...how on earth, the poem from the picture? And there's not a good answer. The tulip lying in the light filtered through the water just seems like something that has been left a bit too long as someone does something else, an absence indicated by the full glass and the thirsty bulb. And absence in the midst of care struck a note and the poem was the memory of that note, hastily written.
-- Chrissa
I enjoyed your reflection on the age of essays. And soccer. And yes, so many questions!
ReplyDeleteI can sense the mother's absence, and the boy's wish to know her.
ReplyDeleteinteresting what we can glean from other people's conversations. And a woman who plays soccer year-round is... interesting. :)
ReplyDeleteThe poem is a delight to read.
Ah, life is what happens when you're busy making other plans. I can relate to this very much as I'm on the go driving the kids from one thing to another and I sometimes find myself tuning out their questions and conversations. I'm present in body but absent in thought.
ReplyDeleteI love this reflective poem... the age of essays... to grow older and wiser. There is such an important lesson of slowness in this, contrasting to the eager question of next.
ReplyDeleteThis is so evocative, I can feel the burning questions as the boy contemplates the past.❤️
ReplyDeleteI love how your interpreted the image -and poetry caught in the moment like this. Well done.
ReplyDeleteI like how you explain your train of thought that produced this poem from the prompt. I like it so much... the poem and the fact that you allowed your mind to wander into a memory provoked by something unlikely.
ReplyDeleteLoved this intriguing somewhat conversational/stream-of-consciousness piece and the backstory of how it came to be. Very cool!
ReplyDeleteThere's something very cool about the way your presented the observations here. It drew me right into the scene, with the restless youngster and his grandpa, and the subject rushing off to their next thing of the day.
ReplyDeleteSuch a beautiful set of poetic questions here Chrissa! I felt as if i was caught in the moment with you. I think poets often get caught up in the happenings of those around them. People watching comes naturally.
ReplyDeleteWhat great this poem has as it is read and the scene could be pictured so well.
ReplyDeleteFascinating! I love the unexpectedness, you telling me something I'd never have known or guessed. And it seems to me you responded to the mood of the picture.
ReplyDeleteReflections and question inspired by a dead tulip...very creative !
ReplyDeleteA beautiful reflection!
ReplyDeletei love the soccer question of the boy...the inquiry of a child to mother...nice...bkm
ReplyDeleteI can see the little boy trying to get to his mother, if only through another's memory of her. I see your poem in the image. beautiful
ReplyDeleteI like your interpretation, and the way we get caught up in other conversations.
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed your interpretation and what it forced me (in the best of ways) to do. I read it once looking for the photo in the words... and then again after reading your not. The second reading showed me how your poem does what your note tells us you were thinking: it slows down (and invites us to do the same) so that we, too, can see.
ReplyDelete