An oldie, and maybe a goodie?

I was just looking back in old e-mails and ran across this. Around this time back in 2006, I was gearing up to spend a month in Oxford, Englad pursuing a certificate in creative writing. While I went hoping to gain fluency in the creative writing of prose, I actually ended up writing poetry. I may or may not have shared this poem on my blog, but I thought I would post it for your enjoyment. This assignment was to write about home vs Oxford. Where you were vs where you are. I was sitting in the gardens of Winchester, England when I wrote this.

Memory

by me

Father and daughter run over green gardens,

manicured and soft. Lovers caress in the

corner seeing no one but the reflection of their

own self in the other's eyes. I sit, alone on a bench

dedicated to one who is lost – but still cherished.

The sound of water falls around my senses and

I wonder if I, too, will be missed.

In a land where old defies its conventional

meaning, glossy brochures describe our value

of remembrance. Nobility, martyr, wealthy,

genius, peculiar, valiant, beautiful, malicious.

Did they receive their descriptor while alive?

Here, history hangs from the branches of

willows in estates maintained to show

their original glory. As I wander the fragrant

paths, I pause, wondering how I will be described,

if at all. Does one arrive by departing?

I return to my room, wondering if anyone has been

inspired here. Will this room be known as mine?

The day winds to its end, and as my eyes

grow heavy, I write home describing this place.

But before the breeze carries me to sleep, I recall him

looking at me before my voyage away. I feel comforted

realizing memories of me have already begun.