It's Still Life

The Past is a Foreign Country

‘stood beside my grandmother’s grave,
one stone of granite, shown and marked,
where I, when young caught lightning bugs.

Tell me again that saying her name
is like a warmth,
a hug,
a mug of steaming tea.
Tell me again that she loved me.

Take me to her altar,
her little shrine
safe above the tide-line.
Take me where I am kissed by sea
where my thoughts
are hollowed
by the tide.

Send me off in lace and ribbon,
my fingers heavy,
led by hers.
Send me walking,
footprints on the shore,
while the tide rises
around my head.

And I will tell you — she raised me well.
I will tell you that she held me,
told me to ride
the hollowing tide,
and not leave footprints
on the curs’ed floor.

Tell me the past is a foreign country;
they do things differently there,
where tides raise hell around my head,
where I’ll raise hell amongst the dead.

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Written for Violet’s “Every Bite — An Adventure, including the phrase The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.”– L.P. Hartley, The Go Between. Words: 161. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.