Old Echoes From a Family Reunion by Jane Carpenter

Friday, April 27, 2012

Around the festive board, old faces missed

Replace themselves with new ones: likeness-kissed—

The sweetness of a certain curve of cheek;

The tone of voice when one is heard to speak;

The grave regard of granite-colored eyes

Repeat the portraits on the wall;

Surprise the senses with a spurt of memory

That answers every questing enquiry,

As potent as the scent of a pressed rose!

How does a child reflect an aunt’s repose,

Who never knew her mentor, long at rest,

But read her yellowed diary, frightened lest

The pages crumble in her smooth young hand?

A boy who knew not his ancestral land

Still bears the stamp of mountains and fjords;

The music’s in his bones—the primal chords.

All that we have become, we owe the old

Who went before—their warmth would pierce the cold

Of this year’s end and gray December day,

Where past has more than present words to say.