top of page


Memory is a door where I store what I used to be. A

peek in that door projects a future borrowed from the past.

“Next” is laden with maiden voyages and newfangled

Things that ring in the new taking its cue from yesterday.

My Mom brought a bounty of warmth and light to the dining

Table at night where candlelight marked the beginning of

Dark and the spark of tomorrow promised she would be

There again spreading warmth to strangers and next of kin.

Her glow did not show a difference between dark and

Light nor, unlike the blazing orb, her warmth never

Blistered nor hurt. Memories of her kindles a warmth

That glows as it grows year after year after year.

our memories are gorged with trillions of images every

second of waking and dreaming, a deluge that informs

what we do, say and think so that new steps are

anchored to all that happened in our zigzag past.

20 views1 comment

1 Comment

Fortunate to have warm, wonderful Mothers. Thanks for the memories, Glen

bottom of page