I was walking one day,
between the expanse of forgotten
woods that lay behind my cabin.
I say forgotten
perhaps because of the inheritance,
perhaps because the last time I
set my bare feet into this dirt,
I was a child.
As I followed the water,
in my mind's eye I could see,
the beauty of my mother,
as white as a tree.
the stream took a bend and I went for a dip,
and from the sky of my eyes
one thousand tears did drip.
for astounded, now, I stood
silent and still,
the echoes of the willows,
whispered with the minnows,
merely mirroring shadows,
of a memory,
unearthed.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 10:44 PM UTC
I was walking one day,
between the expanse of forgotten
woods that lay behind my cabin.
I say forgotten
perhaps because of the inheritance,
perhaps because the last time I
set my bare feet into this dirt,
I was a child.
As I followed the water,
in my mind's eye I could see,
the beauty of my mother,
as white as a tree.
the stream took a bend and I went for a dip,
and from the sky of my eyes
one thousand tears did drip.
for astounded, now, I stood
silent and still,
the echoes of the willows,
whispered with the minnows,
merely mirroring shadows,
of a memory,
unearthed.
This is a poem written by Aislinn, a woman I met in a park in Seattle. She was sitting in front a typewriter with a sign that read "five minute poems, pay what you'd like." She requested inspiration, and I asked her to write about a cabin in the woods, next to a river, surrounded by willow trees. I paid her eight dollars, which was all the money I had.
