Wishing On Memory

This poem came about from an assignment in my Poetry Workshop. We had to write a sestina, which is a complicated French poetic form. It took a while to write, and I didn’t love it initially. But the more I worked on, and then reread it, the more it began to grow on me.

For the assignment, my professor gave us a few groups of six words to choose from to be the base for this piece, the word group I chose was: place, remember, drive, blue, wish, and song.

Note: While I relate to a lot of the sentiments expressed in this poem, it isn’t about me )as one of my friends thought.) The use of “I” doesn’t mean that the poet is talking about themselves.

Also, I feel like the wording in some parts could be better, but I wanted to upload something since I haven’t in a while

***

Sometimes I sit with myself and see how much I can remember

Of one situation or another. How clearly can I hear the siren song

Of the sea. Or the drive,

With the top down, beneath open sky, how blue

It was, and I felt, thinking about my mortality. I wish

I could find myself, my place.

 

My place.

What does that mean? I remember

A home: red bricks, many rooms, my brothers laughing. Sometimes, I wish

I could go back there. Sunday mornings, mama singing,

Her smokey voice embodying the blues.

The same voice that drove

 

Me away. Drove

Me to this place of confusion. This place

Where I am blue,

The navy of a night sky. I remember

Staring up at a sky like that, with my father, listening to the song

Of crickets. I wish

 

I could go back to that night. I wish

I could breathe in that summer air. Drive

Back thirty years, listen to the song

Of my father’s bass wishing

For a past that neither of us had known. A remembrance

Told through stories, of epic battles fought up there, in that vast, mysterious blue.

 

Cerulean,

The color of my dreams. I wish

I knew what my dreams were. I remember

The past, but don’t know my future. I don’t have the drive

For greatness that she wanted for me. I don’t even have a place

To call my home. Where my heart can soar with song.

 

A place where I belong. Whose every creak would be a song,

I could sing in my sleep. Whose azure

Walls would reflect the vast potential of the ocean. Of that open sky. Of me. This would be my place.

But I don’t seek it out. I just wish,

On stars, airplanes, long stretches of road as I drive,

Everywhere, nowhere. Thinking of death, and what happens after, and does it matter what happens now? Will it be worth it? These memories.

 

I’m still composing my song. Figuring out my wish,

Communing with the blue. Driving

From place to place. Remembering.

***

If you just can’t get enough of me, check out my latest vlog upload.

I’ll be back soon with more poetry, and posts and things.

Till next time

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