Being ten

just a memory

I remember how in the autumn, he brought 
me apples from the tree in his garden.
"I just picked these," he said,
"you can take some home if you want."

I smiled, but said nothing back,
just concentrated on the thought
behind the gift, rather than the words.

Later, we went for a walk along the
canal towpath, then headed to the
park and played on the swings;
rocking in the cradle of the sun
until hunger called.

"I've got to go now," he said ,
tall shadowed, but nervous as he
stood next to me. "Mum will be
really mad if I'm late for tea."

I smiled, but said nothing back,
just concentrated on the look
in his eyes, rather than the words.  


For Micky.  1974 - 2015.
Taken too early by the dread scourge of cancer.

Reviews

[emmajoy]

'.. rocking in the cradle of the sun - - until hunger called.'

Beccy, this hits me right between the brows, not merely for the glorious memories about apples but the gentle sincerity of your words. Your Micky will be sitting up there, smiling. Tis a beautiful post.

[Terpsichore]

Beccy. I've just read this after reading Micky and me. Both poems tell me he was someone who meant a lot to you and though you clearly have good memories, I am saddened by your loss of those 'ten thousand tomorrows.'

The subject is poignant, the writing beautiful and so very expressive. T

[h d e rushin]

being ten is the lovesick notion of being alive to everything breathtaking, standing, talking, giving,
walking next to you; it's very appeal is that youth can capture the post-and-pasted events of
yesterday with the most tender of reflections. Knowing that someone dear use to walk beside us,
healthy and tall, is the greatest testament to the undead. That we need to capture every moment
of life's glory while it twinkles, since time and sickness will undoubtedly tarnish that twinkle.

We all had a Mickey with us somewhere along the way. Someone who, without malice or prejudice,
without being motivated by greed or recompense, extends to us an apple. Thank you my friend,
but the image of a just picked apple is the most innocent yet brave metaphors in literary history.
Mr Dickens said skillfully expressed........and I agree....dana

[Samuel Dickens]

There's something special about young memories. Not only are those experiences fresh and new, but our senses are pure; void of worldly influences. I find this remembrance of Mickey beautiful in content and skillfully expressed.

[Gerald Parker]

rocking in the cradle of the sun - good line. A toucbing memory from the days when children could play out.
G

[terry smith]

Two snapshots in time for the photo album in your mind, beautiful,Beccy!!

[Blue]

In the end, we remember the moments, not the words. Thanks for making me realize that. I'm so sorry for your loss, Beccy.