Suddenly it is dark
in the morning,
as if the sun needed to stay
below
the horizon a little longer,
the earth tilted away
to hide her treasure,
like the basket I found in my
dreams,
dust-covered, colors faded,
but the design true, a note
inside
scrawled with tiny letters
and a number.
Maybe this once belonged
to someone’s grandmother,
this basket. I shall carry it
home
and make it whole.
A basket made by Californian Lucy Telles,
now in the Smithsonian National Museum of the American Indian
(source: Wikipedia)
The first lines of this poem came on waking this morning, a very dark morning before daylight savings time kicks in now that we're two-thirds of the way through October. I think I know what it means: that urge to preserve and protect artifacts from previous generations, perhaps an acknowledgement that I cannot 'see' what is valuable of my own.
Even if I have not written every single day, this month long commitment to try comes from Octpowrimo.com -- Go see what others have written HERE.
I really enjoyed this read, Beth. It is eerie, yet not. The quality you create is palpable. Thank you for that.
ReplyDeleteI like this poem. That's happened to me, as well, though I don't always turn it into something whole as you did. Sometimes I dream that I'm writing something really good and when I wake up I can't remember a word of it!
ReplyDeleteLovely! :-)
ReplyDeleteThe poem, and the basket, are such treasures!
ReplyDeleteGreat image you've written! Lovely write!!!
ReplyDeleteThis really is well done... often I long for an explanation for a poem...Im not the best at interpretation... but this one was true to form... Im glad you did explain it but I think it portrayed your inspiration ... which is really cool.
ReplyDelete