Wednesday, 28 August 2013

complicated memory

she left 

a rather complicated 

or perhaps, it is I  
who made it so

with my disney childhood,  
and sixties rose-colored glasses, 
and I-don’t-know-why
to-this-day propensity 
to hang on 

in white scratches
to the person  
she wanted to be 

photo:  Complicated Memory – W. Bourke 

© 2013 Wendy Bourke


  1. how thought-provoking, this "rather complicated memory" you describe. (and I like how the trees photo works with the poem.) I assume you're talking about your mother. great ending.

  2. Well, I suppose it could be about anyone. Though, I think with Mothers (and I think, my daughter would agree) they are the person most of us know so well, that we know what they want to be and we know when they miss the mark that they've set for themselves. I guess it's the old story about how our parents are perfect to us, when we are little; we see every little imperfection in them when we are teenagers and (as we get older) we come to see them as mere mortals. Though, I do think we love them, in spite of that, and there is a tendency to want to keep them on that child-like pedestal, because we do love them and they, somehow, deserve to be there.

  3. I love this, especially your close. True stuff.