Thursday, December 21, 2017

the past comes toward me

a tea-kettle in the woods

there before me lies
the rusted remains of a tea-kettle,
the spout still enough itself
to speak to me of home and family,

for most of a century
it must have just sat there 
in the leaves that fall,
a forgotten tool,
yet in the curve of the spot
I feel the love
that held it
that used it,

usually it’s a well-preserved section of chimney
that speaks to me of the fire
that held the family whole,
today a kettle helps the past come toward me. 

by Henry H. Walker

December 17, ‘17

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