MEMORIES,

a collection of poems by Judith Zottoli

 

 

The Memory Ball

 

 

I am stuck in the memory ball of the past.

I sit on the deck

of my failing family cottage,

one of the last vestiges

of Grampa's compound.

 

I hear the voices

of happy children

swimming and boating,

where we once ruled.

 

I walk by the barn

in need of repair,

once vibrant with

chickens, sheep, steer,

the smell of new mown

hay wafting from the loft.

 

I look under the pine forest

that used to be a grazing

pasture, a haying field,

a picking place of blueberries

and wild strawberries.

 

As I get older,

I remember the good memories.

They will never be repeated or replaced.

They pass each other in the night,

One less significant than the other.