A very important friend told me recently that I have to let go of something. It was words.
Words can be so arbitrary yet the power they possess is fearsome. A long time ago in one of my many other lives I had a little red book of poetry. Poems I had written at different stages of my life. Many of the poems were about people: family, friends, and strangers. I had written about some good and some not-so-good experiences too. These poems were written long before I could afford a pc or even a typewriter and I had no other copies of them anywhere else.
The book is gone. Destroyed? I don’t know. I suspect not. I have been unable to share my words since ‘my book’ was imprisoned, unable to write almost.
However, I picked back up my pen in 2003 and wrote a poem the very same evening I had the chance to meet with a legendary Irish poet. I have done nothing with this poem since. It has sat alone in a little green book of poetry for nine years. So it is time. Time to let go of ‘my book,’ time to let go of the words, and time to let go of the breath I’ve been holding.
A Moment in Time with the Skunk’s Companion
The golden dust of the sun rests on
the old globe in the window.
He is seated in this high-backed armchair.
A dishevelled mop of grey and silver hair.
With a soft Derry accent and a homely smile,
the Vikings on the Liffey came to life before my eyes.
I wanted to be alone with him.
Can I tell you of the things I want to do?
Would you listen to my poems if I read them to you?
My moment in time is broken
by the sweet-smelling coffee
and I catch a wink of amusement at the fuss being made.