Who Stopped?
Forgetting begins
when we leave
a world of beauty, belonging,
imagination;
tactile closeness to clouds,
the stars, the leaves;
as if there’s no separation;
no distance to travel.
Reaching, reaching
yearning to touch; reunite.
We turn from the world that is a net;
a weave that holds us all;
all things.
Remember when you’d lie spread-eagle
looking at the sky,
and it was there for you;
rushed to meet you,
close as an embrace.
Who stopped hugging first?
Marjorie Moorhead writes from a New England river valley, surrounded by mountains and four season change. She is an AIDS survivor, and mother, who tries for a daily reverent walk. Finding a voice in poetry has brought Marjorie much joy, and a needed sense of community. Her work is found online at many journal sites, in several anthologies, and two chapbooks.
Amethyst Review 