My Santiago

From Present Participle to wistful Pluperfect

I am strangely awake, Wide-eyed, fresh as dew. Thoughts recent as today, Keep nipping at memory’s heels,

Insistent, nagging, Refusing to retire, To put themselves to bed.

I toy with them, Knowing full well How one thought leads to another, And now I work my way – by degrees – Into full wakefulness, And into the past!

The past! Recent past! Ever present participle Slipping through to pluperfect, With wistful “I would haves” or “I could haves”. Expressing regret at imperfect memories, To the very past tense.

Vague memories, Distant shadowy figures, They come to mind

But names are not guaranteed And events are blurred by years…

I shed 35 summers, And confront names of young girls, Sharon and Susan,

Now mothers, Middle aged,

Seeing in their daughters A reflection of themselves.

These girls were Goddesses, Their bodies shrines, Shrouded in mystery, Denying easy access to pubescent wiles. And I wonder at our follies, Laughable, Seen from my so very sensible perspective now, But then so taut with awareness,

So intent, so passionate, So alive with breath of life, So foreign, yet so true,