Curtains

the hover and swoop

of dragonflies

sweet effusion of Lavender

          
I hear and smell

lying on my mother’s bed

it is summer and a breeze

          
comes through the window

that opens to the Colorado plain

sheer white curtains

          
flow over me

barely touching me

as if a hint or whisper

          
requiring stillness

awaiting the next breath

nothing could be as peaceful

          
as curtains lifting and waving

in and out of half sleep

empty mind I rest

          
this is what I remember

of my childhood

it will be my last memory

          
a gift that holds me

even now

sometimes it is the only thing

          
that reminds me

of who I really am

an innocent girl

          
housed momentarily

in this wayward stolid form

sometimes it is

          
the only thing left

after a lifetime of seeking

what is good

Published by Marie Marchand

Poetry for me has always been a seeking. Always. An effort to come closer to beauty, to explicate beauty, to behold it in words. I wish to formalize beauty, to give it a title and empower it to go forth into the world. I want to give it shape and lend it the capacity for remembrance. Poetry captures essence. Without essence, there is nothing worth saving. John Keats and William Wordsworth are my favorite poets. My absolute favorite poem to read aloud is Wordsworth's Lines, otherwise referred to as Tintern Abbey. And it must be read aloud at least annually for uplift of the soul. I have shared my poetry through various means including handmade chapbooks, readings, and publication. All the poetry posted on this site is written and copyrighted by me. This collection represents about half of my poetry.