silhouettes-of-childrenthere’s little i’d want to live over
but a few moments, with special people,
their memory held safe, gently wrapped,
with affection, like a
gift waiting to be touched,
opened and savored …

ribbon tugged
….. paper unfurled

the scent of other children, brothers,
the timbre of their voices, those early days,
the freshness playing in my mind,
in flickering light, like

an eight-millimeter film
…..t of toddlers and youths

haunting the years until today
when i found you again

i reached out 
…..and you reached back

© 2014, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved
Illustration ~ courtesy of George Hodan, Public Domain


  1. What a beautiful poem! I see, based on your comments, that it’s about reconnecting with someone on FB …

    For some reason, as I was first reading this, it seemed as if it were a conversation with a ghost … it called to mind my brother …. there are moments, even though he’s gone, that the memories feel like they’re him reaching out from beyond.

    Poems are funny like that, aren’t they … the way the reader can find something within the words that are different from the meaning the author meant.


    1. Art is don’t you think – among other things – about participation. That’s why once the work is done and has left us for the wider world, it is no longer ours.

      Thank you for sharing that story, John. It’s lovely and I’ve had similar experiencesw with my sister who died when I was fourteen and with a few other people as well. I’ve read that some say it’s a trick of the brain, but I’d rather think it’s for real.

      Warmest regards to you, John.


  2. Haunting is such a perfect descriptor of what you describe. There are moments that seem to stay with us and the least thing can trigger their return. Maybe some of these are a place to go to find a poem.


    1. Like a hundred lifetimes ago, Gretchen.

      I hope you are recovering and comfortable. I think of you often and am grateful for your art. My relocation will soon be wrapped up and I’ll have time for visits.

      Be as well as you can be. 🙂


  3. I’ll be visiting my children this weekend to celebrate birthdays and house-warmings…are these the toddlers of my photo albums? What sea change has reshaped that maternal affection and what do I call it now? Time is haunting indeed.


    1. It haunts on many levels.

      This particular poem is about my closest childhood playmates. I have mixed feelings about Facebook, but thanks to that “gift,” I found someone I’d lost track of.


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