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Sandy Carlson

“It seems, as one becomes older

That the past has another pattern

And ceases to be a mere sequence,”*

So it seems tumbling through time

To Grendel’s lair, where the deep fear

Of patternmakers keeps him home days

Until chaos intrudes on gold-gathering

A night battle, brutality, lost arms

And a mother who would have the last word

Home is home and who belongs where.

I would fight to the end for you, fight to know

Where you are, to find you here

I go back through ghost stories

To Odysseus in the underworld

Searching in the dark of memory

For Mother’s love become spirit

So strong he saw her, heard her, followed her word

Went home like a ghost as if for the first time

Heartache heartbreak, broken heart

You are the star of her universe

She would have you burn bright.

I go back again to the first story

A Mother’s blessing, a deep dive, a search for eternity

Go back, you fool, find it where you began

Dig deep in the sand, unearth the pattern of time

This dazzling eternal moment is yours to find.

Dance to the beat of your own wild pulse.


Go home.

Stop breaking my heart.

*From “Four Quartets 3 The Dry Salvages” by T.S. Eliot

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