poetry

rain drops

Hidden among the roots

of grass I hear

a cuckoo ~ Otsuin*

Today my memory invites me to that time…the time my grandparents invited me to go with them to visit family. Sitting in Great Aunt Ida’s living room with her siblings and their spouses listening to shared stories of unknown family and friends, a adolescent’s sudden insight, “that is what being old is….sharing stores of those who died in one’s yesterdays.”

Today as a great grandmother, I find myself wandering through recalled memories with yearnings to visit past times colored by gratitude and secret desires to resolve moments of disconnect.  

Seeking moments of my mom and dad, sisters and brothers, friends, extended family, and teachers and imagining us all sitting together around a table of trust, the trust that evaporates caution, sharing yesterday’s stories of being.

*cited in Y Hoffmann, Japanese Death Poems

spring mist III

… we stand without talking, we stand with tears … to think that I must travel a thousand miles of mist and rain and water! The evening clouds are gathering again, and the sky widens to the south. It is an old story: parting from [loved ones is] full of pain … ~Li Yung

See the mist around my pavilion: before my eyes there is mist all about. It is the image of my sadness, the reflection of my dull, still eyes. Forever will my dull eyes stare at you, pale mist, my eyes that never will light up again. ~Li Yi-hang*

*cited: The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Jade Flute, by Various

image and poetry submitted in response to Paula’s (Lost in Translation) Words of Wisdom challenge.