Forwarded from ETHIOPIAN SPACE SCIENCE SOCIETY (Beza T)
Solar eclipse from Lalibela. Taken by Nahome Tesfaye
My mind covers my eyes so I won’t see the pain coming.
“Pick a memory and explore all the moments, leave nothing out.” I heard a woman talking on becoming a poet.
I spent hours trying to pick a memory. But, I have none. And I have many.
I saw pictures taken from far so to fit everyone at home in one picture turn into a close-up portrait as numbers dropped.
I grew up in a happy home, that I know. I closed my eyes trying to remember what it was like to be the little girl everyone talked about. The little girl who made everyone laugh with her jokes. The little girl with a big smile on her face.
I remember the stories told about the five-year-old girl. I just don’t remember ever being five. Of seven. Or ten. Or thirteen.
And so, I started going through a photo album with faces I no longer recognize.
In it, I saw my parents growing old together.
And after some pages, it was just my mother, growing older by herself.
In the album, I saw promises made and broken.
I saw a little girl grow.
I saw the how house never changed.
I saw pictures taken from far so to fit everyone at home in one picture turn into a closeup portrait as numbers dropped.
And I wondered
Which memory should I pick and explore
I know.
“The days I used to read for my father.” Oh but wait. I don’t remember any of that. It was one of the stories I was told growing up.
All the pictures showed how I never left my father’s side
But I don’t even remember what he looked like
In the pictures, I saw a little girl
With a smile that didn’t really grow old with her
I have so many moments and no memory of any of them.
But if I dig deeper,
I’d remember the moment where my mother told me she missed her husband
Or when she told me he’d be back from the dead
She wasn’t lying, really, she just hoped.
I have grown to discern between the two
As I have been waiting for her every single day since the day she never said goodbye
Telling myself, “She’ll be back”
The number of albums in our home decreased into family pictures taken over the holidays
Which I try to remember.
And, here I have with me,
Evidence that I was once a child
Which I have no memory of
Because every time I hurt
My mind covers my eyes so I won’t see the pain coming
The day I lost my mother
I fell asleep right after I heard the news
Like I said,
My mind covers my eyes so I won’t see the pain coming.
And now I have stories and pictures of her so I won’t forget what her face looked like
Even if it was only 10 years ago that she never said goodbye
I close my eyes
And I see my childhood,
A little kid growing up as her mother’s best friend
I hear our laughter
I feel our bond
I just don’t see our faces
There is a vast blank within my mind that grows expanding day by day
And I grew up to be a poet on the process of trying to remember
Here I am now,
Trying to explore a memory that I don’t ever remember living
Trying to describe a face I don’t remember wearing
“Leave out nothing.” The women said
But I don’t remember almost anything.
Because every time I hurt
My mind covers my eyes so I won’t see the pain coming.
But like I said
I have pictures
Saying that I was once a child
With a smile on her face.
She never ever dreamt of becoming a poet
Or she would have never lost her smile.
Now, I look around
I see the house remains the same
And that we are back to taking pictures from a corner
As numbers have gone up once again.
I would pick a memory
But my eyes are covered.
“Pick a memory and explore all the moments, leave nothing out.” I heard a woman talking on becoming a poet.
I spent hours trying to pick a memory. But, I have none. And I have many.
I saw pictures taken from far so to fit everyone at home in one picture turn into a close-up portrait as numbers dropped.
I grew up in a happy home, that I know. I closed my eyes trying to remember what it was like to be the little girl everyone talked about. The little girl who made everyone laugh with her jokes. The little girl with a big smile on her face.
I remember the stories told about the five-year-old girl. I just don’t remember ever being five. Of seven. Or ten. Or thirteen.
And so, I started going through a photo album with faces I no longer recognize.
In it, I saw my parents growing old together.
And after some pages, it was just my mother, growing older by herself.
In the album, I saw promises made and broken.
I saw a little girl grow.
I saw the how house never changed.
I saw pictures taken from far so to fit everyone at home in one picture turn into a closeup portrait as numbers dropped.
And I wondered
Which memory should I pick and explore
I know.
“The days I used to read for my father.” Oh but wait. I don’t remember any of that. It was one of the stories I was told growing up.
All the pictures showed how I never left my father’s side
But I don’t even remember what he looked like
In the pictures, I saw a little girl
With a smile that didn’t really grow old with her
I have so many moments and no memory of any of them.
But if I dig deeper,
I’d remember the moment where my mother told me she missed her husband
Or when she told me he’d be back from the dead
She wasn’t lying, really, she just hoped.
I have grown to discern between the two
As I have been waiting for her every single day since the day she never said goodbye
Telling myself, “She’ll be back”
The number of albums in our home decreased into family pictures taken over the holidays
Which I try to remember.
And, here I have with me,
Evidence that I was once a child
Which I have no memory of
Because every time I hurt
My mind covers my eyes so I won’t see the pain coming
The day I lost my mother
I fell asleep right after I heard the news
Like I said,
My mind covers my eyes so I won’t see the pain coming.
And now I have stories and pictures of her so I won’t forget what her face looked like
Even if it was only 10 years ago that she never said goodbye
I close my eyes
And I see my childhood,
A little kid growing up as her mother’s best friend
I hear our laughter
I feel our bond
I just don’t see our faces
There is a vast blank within my mind that grows expanding day by day
And I grew up to be a poet on the process of trying to remember
Here I am now,
Trying to explore a memory that I don’t ever remember living
Trying to describe a face I don’t remember wearing
“Leave out nothing.” The women said
But I don’t remember almost anything.
Because every time I hurt
My mind covers my eyes so I won’t see the pain coming.
But like I said
I have pictures
Saying that I was once a child
With a smile on her face.
She never ever dreamt of becoming a poet
Or she would have never lost her smile.
Now, I look around
I see the house remains the same
And that we are back to taking pictures from a corner
As numbers have gone up once again.
I would pick a memory
But my eyes are covered.
I'm a poet
Not yet Poetry
But if I shall ever become a poem
Write me within a Haiku
where I never have to rhyme.
Not yet Poetry
But if I shall ever become a poem
Write me within a Haiku
where I never have to rhyme.
And sometimes,
Pain camouflages itself into dreams
hopes
and forgiveness.
Make-believe healing.
Pain camouflages itself into dreams
hopes
and forgiveness.
Make-believe healing.
Be kind to yourself
Healing cannot happen without getting wounded
Whether in opening old ones
Or
Stitching.
Healing cannot happen without getting wounded
Whether in opening old ones
Or
Stitching.
"Why are you always looking for trouble?" they ask
"Because
As a poet
Nothing terrifies me more than a blank page
A blank mind" I'd say
"Because
As a poet
Nothing terrifies me more than a blank page
A blank mind" I'd say