GRATEFUL AND MYSTIFIED
What kind of synapses are they
that lay dormant for seventy-four years
and are only wakened by seeing words?
Dodgem's poem read "Suffer little children..."
and as these words permeated my brain
the synapses, of which I speak, fired up -
apparently unrequested and uninvited -
and brought back to my ageing brain
a picture of my mother beside my bed
reciting an undevoted prayer to me:
"Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,
look upon this little child..."
And I become astounded by the recall
of an entire poetic prayer learned, then,
by rote in formative years long gone.
Why did they awaken? What for?
The only thing I can imagine
as the answer, is that this would be
one more rare memory of mother
being soft, motherly and gentle.
These occasional flashes from the past
help take some sharp edges off
my otherwise hard jagged image of her.
For that I should be, and am
grateful - even though mystified.
© Griffonner 2024
Poetry by Griffonner
Read 100 times
Written on 2024-01-10 at 16:57
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