Another writer found, one that pulled me into sadness and the waiting room of life: Denise DiMarzio’s poem For Crows and Old Men.
At first, when reading, her words were just that, words, and then as I moved through, my eyes scanning, my mind translating and devouring, feeling crept in and I began to feel what he felt, sitting in a yellow room waiting for his crows, the one thing left after a long life.
Yellow traverses the distance that time grooved, connecting all memory, and that imagery of color picture-framed my thoughts, as well as the unrelenting gnawing that stole the man’s peace.
This poem reminded me of many things, one being my own journey of living, wherein I collect many wanderings and events, emotions and pleasantries, and live life as it is given.
Sometimes what is given is admired and cherished and other times there are moments that could have been left alone, ignored; I’ve found even those moments need their time, their place in the sun or the darkness, whichever seems more appropriate.