A Slim Margin

The past is never where you think you left it.
Katherine Anne Porter

The past is never dead. It's not even past.
William Faulkner

Where is the past? Sometimes it feels like a room with an open door, one I thought I’d closed. When I walk past and look inside, shadows play across polished floors and whispers fill the dusky interior. There are days when the line between present and past feels tenuous. Today’s poem is about one of those moments.

The Old Ginger Cat Listens
Carri Kuhn

The old ginger cat sits curled in the dappled morning sun,
one ear in the light, the other in shadow. 
As though listening to bright birdsong in this world,
to echoes from that other one. 

Whose voice comes to him as he sits here, on the thin margin 
between present and past? Between the sound of a robin in the willow,
and my father whistling, as he winds a clock
that stopped decades ago. 

Some memories are easy to love, others not. Sometimes I walk through that open door and listen to the whispers. Sometimes I choose to close the door and walk away. I'm still learning how to make these choices. 

With appreciation and wishes for a beautiful week,
Carri.