trickles through

the hour glass of her life

Sand of a hundred years

washed salted




then gathered

not as precious pearls

but to a finely faceted

stained glass




she examines

each ordinary grain

Turns it thoughtfully

in memory’s

soft palm



she remembers

each face each voice

of this life she loved

but never dared



About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
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4 Responses to Birthday

  1. I love ‘stained glass history’. Great description.


  2. your poem is itself finely faceted


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