IDOL week 3. Topic: Intaglio

[adoptedwriter]

 Intaglio

 

“She lives with us in memory and will forever.”

 

There’s just one problem.

I don’t remember her.

I never will.

Visiting the grave.

I can’t cry for her.

I stare at the stone.

Emptiness.

 

It happened to other people.

It was real-not-real.

She did and did not exist.

She knew me but she didn’t know me.

I knew her but I never knew her.

Mythical and magical

Silence

 

Is she really down in there?

Where did she actually go?

Summer sun and freshly mown grass;

This is her scent. 

She has a birth date and an end of life date. 

She was loved and is missed by many.

Including me.

 

“She lives with us in memory and will forever.”

 

But I can’t remember her. 

 

Comments

[mallorys_camera]

❤️❤️❤️

[adoptedwriter]

Thanks!

[chasing_silver]

It's so surreal when you know someone existed but can't really remember them. This has happened to me several times. <3

[adoptedwriter]

It is odd. This was my birth mother who died when I was a kid.

[alycewilson]

I wondered. I can kind of understand that. My paternal grandfather died while my Grandma was pregnant with my father, so none of us got to know him.

[erulissedances]

I've looked at many old cemeteries and have felt somewhat the same connection, although I really didn't know the people who had passed and had never met them. Nonetheless, I have always loved cemeteries, and have wandered through many of them. Perhaps that's one underlying reason why I went into Archaeology for my BA and MA degrees.

- Erulisse (one L)

[adoptedwriter]

Thanks! Cemeteries used to creep me out...not so much now, but...

[michaelboy]

Lovely words.

[adoptedwriter]

Thanks.

[jake67jake]

So, poignant. And so true of younger generations of truly amazing forebears. I hate that my children will never know my maternal grandmother -- the last years of her life (after they were born) was a mostly catatonic woman in a wheelchair who sat in the corner and occasionally smiled.

Well written!

[adoptedwriter]

Thanks so much! This was about my birth mother. I wish my kids could have known my grandparents too. No such luck. My last grandma died when my daughter was 6 months old. We got pictures and I keep their memories going, but it’s not the same.

[favoritebean_writes]

This is so lovely, heartbreaking, and profound.

[adoptedwriter]

Thanks!

[gunwithoutmusic]

This is an interesting thing that I hadn't really thought of before... I know there's the idea that we live on even after we die in the memories of those that knew us, but... eventually they too will die, and what does it mean to be reduced to just a stone somewhere, lost amongst others? That line of thinking reminds me that it's good to try and enjoy the life that you are given and not let yourself be plagued by the idea of a legacy that no one ever really gets. Even historical figures that "live on" well after their deaths are not really remembered anymore, they are just learned about (and most of the time, not even accurately).

I realize this rambling has not much to do with anything, but this poem got my gears turning and I thought I'd share. :) Good work; I enjoyed it.

[adoptedwriter]

You have a great point there.
Yeah, and in my case, it's a POV of being taught and told about my birth mother but never knowing myself / 1st hand. I do question (some of) the accuracy of the info I've been told, but my sister's info is consistent and we have a lot of photos.
Thanks for reading and sharing.