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.
Go home.
Stop breaking my heart.
*From “Four Quartets 3 The Dry Salvages” by T.S. Eliot
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