February

[indar]

February

Last July, I think it was,
no, wait, 
the July before-- 
isn't this the way things go? 
It seems just yesterday
was the day they collected garbage, 
yet here we are again--
trucks rumbling in the street. 

What was I saying? 
Oh, July, 
the month of my oldest daughter's birthday,
the sixteenth, my god,
fifty-one years ago-- 

July was always hot.
We made root beer floats: 
drank them in the yard; 
watched our beagle tracking squirrels, 
laughed at the way she howled. 

It's February,

half a year from now,
next July, 
that will make it three already
since my youngest daughter-- 
wait, I believe--no that's right, 
Last year it was 
this dog turned eight.  

[Janet]

Hi Linda,

Such eloquence and restraint. I love the intimacy we have with N's mind. Time passing, the images that help us keep track of memories in a chronological sense. The all too human tendency to avoid grief. You tied it all together beautifully. Thank you fgor sharing.

Janet

[indar]

Thanks Janet,

I was afraid it sounded a little flippant.

[Colm Roe]

Hi Linda,
I'm not sure there's enough information to show what you're saying in the -- line. That might just be me.
I love the way you sucked us into the N's mind, compelled us to engage.
The seemingly random confusions create a strong reality in a deceptively light package.
Very well written.
It resonates today for me, after attending a funeral home this afternoon for the repose of the three year old daughter of some friends of mine. (Please don't ask, it's too tragic, and this is your poem) 
Regards 
 

[Ike]

Doc says I have ADD. Your words tiptoe around that with more power in what isn't said than what is. Phenomenal artistry. More impressive, it seems to me like you're navigating around what you really want to say, loss or otherwise, purposefully and with prowess.

[Matty11]

February

Last July, I think it was,
no, wait, 
the July before-- 
isn't this the way things go? 
It seems just yesterday
was the day they collected garbage, ....love the significance detail
yet here we are again--
trucks rumbling in the street. ....like the trigger

What was I saying? 
Oh, July, 
the month of my oldest daughter's birthday,
the sixteenth, my god,
fifty-one years ago-- 

July was always hot...............again a lovely throwaway assertion
We made root beer floats: 
drank them in the yard; 
watched our beagle tracking squirrels, 
laughed at the way she howled. 

It's February,

half a year from now,
next July, 
that will make it three already
since my youngest daughter-- 
wait, I believe--no that's right, 
Last year it was ................................typo on capital or full-stop after right?
this dog turned eight.  

Excellent how you have drawn the reader into the floaty ramble clinging to time with remembrances.

Best

matty

[indar]

Hi Colm,

How can I respond to your heart-rending post? Thank you for the read. 

I'm not certain I wrote this with a need to have a reader know exactly what I refer to in the -- line (as you call it). I also know I'm posting among friends

[indar]

Thank you Ike,
I am gratified that you identified the theme of this poem as loss. Close reading is the first step to writing poetry. In my day they called it a short attention span--that would be me.

Thank you Phil,
I have given up trying to edit that cap L. Sometimes the curser turns attempts to edit into a video game that can't be won It should be lower case.
Thank you for your kind comments.

 

[Tracy Mitchell]

The musing, and the way you free associate the memory snippets is so genuine. 
You present the void in a compelling way.
It's a heartbreaking poem.

Don't change a thing.

T

[indar]

Thank you for the read and kind comments Tracy