Poetry

By Erek James Erekson


And Beginning

We played on the hill,
Fought our battles as if it were the world,
And it meant the world to us
To win and never be wrong.
But since then I’ve embraced
Failure’s cold depression.
I’ve felt the biting frost of fear.
It paralyzed me—for a while.
Now, I know that there is more
Than games and winning.
It starts with erasing
And beginning.

My Mother’s Watch

I wear my mother’s watch
upon a chain
that falls about my throat
in golden grace;
I think of how she wore it
pinned to her breast
beside a frill of lace.
I see her opening its thin,
engraved lid,
watching the hands that moved
through many days
and many dark-eyed nights.
I shed a tear
recalling how it ticked
her life away.
And now is ticking mine.

Memory under Glass

If I could capture,
Somehow,
A moment out of time,
Preserve it in a crystal cube
And place it on a shelf
For easy view,
I’d choose the white serenity
And tingling, quiet joy,
Of reaching over crocheted lace,
And clasping hands
Eternally
With you.

[photo] Photography by Wes Taylor