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.

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