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Eileen Auger Apr 2014
The ritual of scattering
my inevitable ashes
In places long cherished
seems at first glance
an indulgence of whimsy,
wishful thinking that something remains
after lungs draw  breath no more,
blood no longer carries life
ceaselessly throughout this body
no longer  enclosing
the self that once was Me.

What is the point of
such sentimentality?
The spreading of my ashen molecules
seems a foolish enterprise,
mere hopefulness for comfort
in the face of my utter absence.

But then again,  why should I not wish
to blend with the ebb and flow of the sea
or calm waters of a peaceful lake  glittering under sunny skies?
Why would I resist mingling
with rich, dark soil in a garden of glorious flowers?
Why? Why not?
After all, when what is left of me
is nothing more than a bit of ash and bone,
that can become my last gift
to the places of my heart,
a little nourishment in the cycle of Life.

Eileen Auger
4/25/14
Eileen Auger Apr 2014
FRIENDS

My longtime friendships
Have sadly dwindled,
disappearing into the ether of memory,
almost as if I fooled myself
that they ever existed,
like characters in a book
who seem real with the turning of the pages
but only in my imagination.

Some friendships  have been severed
unwillingly, gone
into some Great Beyond,
nothing I can do about that.
Others have left me wondering
What have I done,
that they no longer need me in their lives?

Perhaps it was  simply Life happening,
tugging us in different directions,
separated permanently
by time or distance,
whether geographical or emotional.
Whatever the case may be,
I miss them.

Eileen Auger
4/21/2014
Eileen Auger Apr 2014
The years of memories
pile up like cord-wood
stacked randomly,
a Jenga game of blocks
balanced  precariously,
verging on toppling
when a piece near the bottom
is removed too carelessly.


Memories must dwell in the past,
forever in the life of the mind.
They cannot be pulled out,
touched and held,
nor lived over and over again,
except perhaps in dreams.

Eileen Auger
3/22/14
Eileen Auger Apr 2014
The Self That Used to Be

It is entirely possible
that no one will ever know
no one will ever see
the self I used to be
a long time ago,
the self that is still me
but hidden for now.
That flirty eye-twinkle
and teasing laugh
lie tucked away
like a piece of fine jewelry
in its velvet lined box
waiting silently
to shine on the next
suitable occasion
which may never come.

Eileen Auger
9/13/09
Eileen Auger Apr 2014
Down again.
AGAIN.
A nibbling around the edges down-ness,
not a full-blown sorrowing
with a reason to be.

It is my spoiled-brat "down"
come home again to roost.
But really more like a blanket
trying to suffocate me oh so quietly.
Written in 1980-something.
Eileen Auger Apr 2014
Open and Shut

There are those of us
in the human community
walking around enclosed
in self-constructed shells,
shielding themselves
from random stones flung
or darts purposely aimed to hurt.

Taking no chances,
even their soft underbellies
wear secure armor
against any possible onslaught.
Nothing comes in,
nothing goes out.

Others walking among us
are tender as children
still full of innocent trust
like delicate blossoms fully opened,
redolent with sweet nectar
destined for honey,
and seedpods freely given up
on gentle Spring breezes
carrying away bits of future beauty
to distant fields of wildflowers,
blissfully ignorant
of  tomorrow's killing frost.
Everything comes in,
everything goes out.

Eileen Auger
2007 or thereabouts
Eileen Auger Apr 2014
Inside Out

If I could turn myself
inside out
this gut-full of fire
would engulf my world
in flaming destruction.

Frigid blood in my veins
inexplicably sustaining life,
would flood the landscape,
ushering in a new Ice Age.

This brain-heart-soul,
a jumble of emotions,
would be opened wide,
releasing an explosion of chaos.

Eileen Auger
2006
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