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Open Poetry #12
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Somersault In Time
| Open Poetry #12 |
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Somersault In Time |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California 
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Somersault In Time The daughter held a pink satin slip. The kindly nurse had said, go home, get some sleep, but she couldn’t sleep. When was it they had reversed roles? Wandering around her mother’s bedroom, she touched bottles and jars, even smelled the scent of her mother’s hair in a brush on the dressing table. As she rubbed the soft material of the slip she remembered her in front of the open window, writing her memoirs, the room like ice. Worried then, in this shingle-sided house of her youth, for her mother who was just looking out. Slip to face, caught in a faint hint of Nivia skin lotion and floral fragrance of old sachet, she breathed, glanced at the chair, empty, then saw the notebook that lay on the floor. She picked it up and opened it to the first page. As the silk slip fell from her lap She read, "Just Meandering-A Memoir It’s funny how things turn around and around--the world, the seasons, life and death. What was, is again. In a somersault of time, she is like a mother to me now." [This message has been edited by Martie (edited 03-08-2001).] |
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| © Copyright 2001 Martie Odell Ingebretsen - All Rights Reserved | |||
Marge Tindal 
since 1999-11-06
Posts 42384Florida's Foreverly Shores |
Oh, my gosh, Martie~ Just pull my little heartstrings ! ! Now I'm blubbering with recall ... *hugging* memories - and you ! ~*Marge*~ ~*The pen of the poet never runs out of ink, as long as we breathe.*~ [email protected] |
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Irish Rose Member Patricius
since 2000-04-06
Posts 10263 |
wonderful, Martie, true style just like you always do. Kathleen Blake "When red-haired girls scamper like roses over the rain-green grass, and the sun drips honey." Laurie Lee |
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Sven
since 1999-11-23
Posts 14937East Lansing, MI USA |
ah yes. . . the famous "what if". . . superb. . . ------------------------------------------------------- To the world, you may only be one person. But to one person, you may be the world. |
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
When was it they had reversed roles? Wandering around her mother’s bedroom, she touched bottles and jars, even smelled the scent of her mother’s hair in a brush on the dressing table. ================= Slip to face, caught in a faint hint of Nivia skin lotion and floral fragrance of old sachet, she breathed, ==================== "Just Meandering-A Memoir It’s funny how things turn around and around--the world, the seasons, life and death. What was, is again. In a somersault of time, she is like a mother to me now." =============== tender render Martie ... brought back many memories of my grandmothers than you for that sweet poet this is lovely in its grace of respect and hearts exchanged  meSome find subtlety in strangers some find subtlety alone Your eyes,you see everything my eyes,I see its all together now and I know. ~candlebox~ |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
Marge--Your heart strings reach clear across the world...they're easy to pull. Kathleen--Thank you for your sweet reply...I'm glad you stopped to read one of my poems and reply. Sven--This poem is really a bit of fiction taken from a short story that I wrote...about changing roles with your parent as they age...something I have had to do myself a few times. Thank you for your kind response. Janet---"hearts exchange"...you always know just what to say...hugs! |
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suthern
since 1999-07-29
Posts 20723Louisiana |
This is beautiful, Martie... and so is the fact that the love remains, regardless of who is caretaker... the main difference being that so much hope soars first time around... and so much acceptance has to be found as roles reverse. *S* |
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VAS Member Rara Avis
since 2000-11-16
Posts 7450Oregon |
Lovely, poignant, you do these so well and tenderly. |
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Dark Angel Member Patricius
since 1999-08-04
Posts 10095 |
Oh Martie, this is so beautiful and yet very sad.. "When was it they had reversed roles?" funny how that just happens without realising, then one day you do, and well it's quite frightening. This poem really touched me Maree I may know the word but not say it I may know the truth but not face it I may hear a sound a whisper sacred and profound but turn my head indifferent. Natalie Merchant [This message has been edited by Dark Angel (edited 03-09-2001).] |
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Denise
Moderator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-08-22
Posts 22648 |
Very tender and soft as silk, Martie! Lovely! |
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Balladeer
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-05
Posts 25505Ft. Lauderdale, Fl USA |
Ah, Martie, this is the style in which you excel so wonderfully..... |
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Wilfred Yeats Member Elite
since 2000-08-04
Posts 2704Wilmington, Delaware |
I think of the times - I went thru things of dad's - or mom's - how they stirred me - still more now as a parent myself - this touched me very deeply |
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nakdthoughts Member Laureate
since 2000-10-29
Posts 19200Between the Lines |
I think this is one of your best...something that you would see in print...published for the world to read *s ~Wynter "The worst prison would be a closed heart". ...Pope John Paul II |
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Mike Member Elite
since 1999-06-19
Posts 2462 |
while it would be exceedingly difficult to select a best of Martie... this bloom rivals the excellence of any you have penned poetic florist... |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
Ruth--Yes, you are so right and wise....thank you. VAS--Thank you so much for seeing tender. Maree--Yes, it is sad...but it is as it should be..I'm glad this touched you. Denise--Soft as silk...how nice...thank you. Balladeer--Thank you for saying so. Bill--I always appreciate your special replies. Wynter--What a wonderful thing to say...maybe so..hmmm. Mike--A high compliment coming from you, my friend...thank you. |
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ethome Member Patricius
since 2000-05-14
Posts 11858New Brunswick Canada |
Martie this is so touching and warm. You always seem to capture that wonderful loving truthful space and put it into words so wonderfully arranged and crafted....ethome The poet is like a cocoon; in him the caterpillar of the past finds rest, and from him the butterfly of the future emerges. |
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