For the past we honor and put to rest

the past is a river dried up a mud trench easy to follow backwards

to truly love in the present
we must honor the past
beyond the path lays a meadow
of lilacs
for ghosts to be put
to rest. tell old love,
"i will meet you here"

mail a collection of poems
to every fist full of heart
that once dug a trench,
that once became a flower, now
an apparition
for memory.


poems are the open fields
we arrive at as if saying,
"I have met you here before.
this time,
i am not writing you between lines."
sing a song to the wind
every hymn a reminder
that love once lived
between lines.

you will write old loves a thank you
note on the inside of a book
a goodbye memento. now in different
costumes. no longer
smeared in gin n tonics,
cigarette smoke or sand
between toes.
old love will not reach for
hip or face or hand anymore.
you think,
"good. i did not want to remind you
why we no longer share the same scent."

fill a chalice with rain
pour it over face
tell yourself
a year ago this cup
was filled with tears.
it is filled with light
falling down on you.
this is why the river is

dried up.

love is never a consolation prize
to be won.
love is always light
the river may dry
but follow it and there
you find the open sea.

you were always the open sea.
the only prize needed
to be found.


Jocelyn NgComment