Autobiography

I’m chasing down those dead thoughts like leaves in autumn,

Hoping they will reveal again the colour we bought them

For when we see that gold, though brilliant now,

Is already fading to brown.

I’m hoping that these old memories

Are not sepia as the photos

But are going to become clear and green

And fresh as the daisies

That sprinkled the lawn with delight

When I was seven or eight

And mourned when the lawn was mown.

The precious flowers had their heads chopped off

Like Mary Stuart or Sir Walter Raleigh

Who were beautiful, but not wanted.

There, you see, I have done it,

Another memory returns – how vivid!

Pink cherry blossom, bespeckling the grass

Pleased my child’s eye so much.

Are these worth remembering, writing down?

Or is it best to forget

And let

The present day world believe that the past was always worse?

And yet,

I know the lies and the spin.

Perhaps my corner of life is worth recollecting

And telling people of before it all falls away

From my tree like autumn leaves.

Jacqueline Mulhallen