Home-you can never go back.
Is it true? – I don’t know,
but I am climbing stairs
searching for the answer.
The stones under my fingers
hold the dreams of wings.
When I was a child
I wanted to fly beyond
this granite to a fairytale…
Make believe,
I immersed myself
in it with wide eyes,
giggles, and trust.
Somewhere between Snow White
and puberty I lost my way
to imagination.
I didn’t realize how cold
it would become when
childhood died.
My eyes are drawn
to a tiny window
where a white dove
blinks with cinnamon eyes.
I hear it speak to the child
hidden inside of me,
“You’ve always had wings.
You just didn’t believe you could fly.”
Home, you can go back,
even if it is only to reunite
with the child you left behind.
©Susie Clevenger 2012
Photograph: Elizabeth Messina
Written for New World Creative Union's Wednesday Wake-Up Call 8/1/2012
Inspired by this beautiful music video featuring the paintings and artwork of Winslow Homer, Camille Pissarro, John Singer Sargent, and Spadecaller.
Comments
it would become when
childhood died."
How true, but so wonderful to know that we can reunite with our inner child and reconnect with our imaginations.
Lovely poem, beautiful images.
I also like how you incorporated the white bird/dove into your work, "My eyes are drawn to a tiny window where a white dove blinks with cinnamon eyes."
"Home-you can never go back. Is it true?" And I think all can identify with, "...but I am climbing stairs searching for the answer."
Reminds me of Thomas Wolfe's, "You Can't Go Home Again."
Nice, very nice indeed Susie! Thank you so much for presenting this to us!
Roger ☺
Somewhere between Snow White
and puberty I lost my way
to imagination
never have any lines work with more power, as much perhaps but never more. :)
Monty
*didn't realize how cold*
Perhaps that why old women wear shawls........
Most beautiful!
Mimi
Dainty but deep at the same time. Do we have to lose that inner child? Even for a short time? I am glad you regained yours.
Hank
Excellent.
mark
Somewhere between Snow White
and puberty I lost my way
to imagination
As we mature we tend to forget that the inner child is still there, still has needs and wishes to be heard.
I love how this is so gentle, ethereal, like the butterfly wings of your dreams.
Beautiful writing Susie. Lovely image too.
Poignant writing!
K
it would become when
childhood died
... Oh, Susie. This is amazing. I can really relate to not believing in yourself, too.
You just didn’t believe you could fly.”
So true of us all. Enjoyable poem.
You just didn’t believe you could fly.”
So true of us all. Enjoyable poem.
Beautiful!