A triptych about my past, present, and future.
Sitting in the back seat,
singing along to the music
on a trip to somewhere -
the destination long forgotten -
I was happy, the music playing
with lyrics I knew by heart,
happy, unthinking, unguarded.
The volume increased
louder and louder
until it filled the car,
dimming my voice
until I stopped singing
and just sat in silence,
staring out the window.
Perhaps he had not meant
to send the message
that I could not sing
but the message carried
in every turn of the dial,
as I closed my mouth
and wiped away my silent tears.
I sang again, still sing,
with earbuds in as I mow,
not caring if the neighbors hear
or how off-tune I sing,
I sing and dance as I cook, as I clean,
the volume set on loud,
my cat, an audience who doesn’t judge.
The Invisible Rope
I cannot sing in tune,
so karaoke is a no-go;
nor can I dance a waltz,
drop my guard
and allow my feet to follow.
I cannot paint from imagination,
pick up the loaded brush
to connect brain to canvas
revealing in the final stroke
a painting worthy of awe.
I cannot overcome my fears
of deep water or heights,
an invisible rope binding me
to what is certain -
no endorphin rushes.
But, I can write and speak -
words flowing from a mind
tumbling over hope and love,
despair and loss,
polished into a poem.
Two Deaths
I will not be remembered for long,
the memory of me fading
as my grandchildren grow up,
tell stories to their children,
who then forget them,
passing down new tales
of my children to their own.
And so it goes, as so it should,
each generation holding the one before
then releasing memories into stories -
of moments captured and reframed,
of facial features like a smile or slant of eyes,
a fighting spirit, or a quiet mind.
We die two deaths when we depart
the first of body, then of who we were,
our essence evaporating
with the turning of the years,
until finally, we are completely forgotten...
perhaps in that moment my spirit will rejoice,
free of the retelling of what was mine.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Read 20 times
Written on 2026-07-21 at 16:51
Tags Self Talents Death
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
Releasing: A Triptych
UnguardedSitting in the back seat,
singing along to the music
on a trip to somewhere -
the destination long forgotten -
I was happy, the music playing
with lyrics I knew by heart,
happy, unthinking, unguarded.
The volume increased
louder and louder
until it filled the car,
dimming my voice
until I stopped singing
and just sat in silence,
staring out the window.
Perhaps he had not meant
to send the message
that I could not sing
but the message carried
in every turn of the dial,
as I closed my mouth
and wiped away my silent tears.
I sang again, still sing,
with earbuds in as I mow,
not caring if the neighbors hear
or how off-tune I sing,
I sing and dance as I cook, as I clean,
the volume set on loud,
my cat, an audience who doesn’t judge.
The Invisible Rope
I cannot sing in tune,
so karaoke is a no-go;
nor can I dance a waltz,
drop my guard
and allow my feet to follow.
I cannot paint from imagination,
pick up the loaded brush
to connect brain to canvas
revealing in the final stroke
a painting worthy of awe.
I cannot overcome my fears
of deep water or heights,
an invisible rope binding me
to what is certain -
no endorphin rushes.
But, I can write and speak -
words flowing from a mind
tumbling over hope and love,
despair and loss,
polished into a poem.
Two Deaths
I will not be remembered for long,
the memory of me fading
as my grandchildren grow up,
tell stories to their children,
who then forget them,
passing down new tales
of my children to their own.
And so it goes, as so it should,
each generation holding the one before
then releasing memories into stories -
of moments captured and reframed,
of facial features like a smile or slant of eyes,
a fighting spirit, or a quiet mind.
We die two deaths when we depart
the first of body, then of who we were,
our essence evaporating
with the turning of the years,
until finally, we are completely forgotten...
perhaps in that moment my spirit will rejoice,
free of the retelling of what was mine.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Read 20 times
Written on 2026-07-21 at 16:51
Tags Self Talents Death
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
|
jim |
| Texts |
 by Melinda K Zarate Latest textsReleasing: A TriptychVolumes Going Under Just Keep Going The Mirror |
Increase font
Decrease