I carry time like a tune in my head
A murmuring metronome of which I’m unaware –
But once,Under deep anesthetic
It grew silent
And I awoke not knowing
Quite what day it was.
Space is an interactive map plotted in my brain –
But the longer I am absent from home,
The more my dining room gently expands.
Stray keepsakes vanish from the windowsills,
And the whole is bathed in a wan,
Thus, the strangeness of homecoming,
When I struggle in with suitcases
And see the room snap back to its proper size
And gain particularity,
Cozy and disheveled,
Flooded with warm late afternoon sun
That strikes the green glass vase and
Glances off the liquor bottle,
Flashing on my husband’s sweet face
As he pops open frothing champagne,
Grinning at me.
in fading light.
Mother and small girl,
move as one
for the other’s sake,
Woods at Dusk
With no spoken way
to tell the other
what moves her so.
Trudy Myrrh Reagan is a member of Palo Alto Friends Meeting (PYM). These two poems are from her 2018 collection, Spacious. The image here depicts her painting, “Way Will Open.” Find more of Trudy’s work at: myrrh-art.com
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