In the House of Fortune

autumn maples

I’ll tug at her apron while she reads books,
and whistle off tune while she bakes bread,
and I’ll climb in clogs on bare wood stairs…up
and down, and up and down until she looks at me.

Then, with permission, I’ll sit at her feet and
tell her that I see visions and hear voices…and
she will tell me I am dying soon…not today…not
tomorrow,  for I’ll have days to assign the giving,
and to choose right order of the songs on lists
I’ll paste on doors and where people hang their coats.

She has pockets in her apron, and from them
she fills my hands with question marks and
exclamations…and ending marks of periods
she’s gathered  from my life when I,  so very
careless…thoughtless…dropped them from
my notice as trifling to its needing.

And I…downcast with regret…leaving her…
shall wish I had not asked.

 

Bonnie Marshall

Artwork by Tosa Mitsuoki

32 thoughts on “In the House of Fortune

  1. I don’t know what this poem means, but it makes me sad. Or rather, I feel companioned in my own sadness. I’ve experienced a lot of loss and can’t really process it yet. But I’m grateful for someone else’s words, words that can remind me others have felt what I feel; that this is what it means to be human. And it will pass. I really really like the painting too. The painting is what drew me in. I could sit with that painting all day. Thank you.

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