Unmoored

Cabot Trail Road, Nova Scotia, Canada
Photo by Christophe Dion on Unsplash

Wind through my window

stirs memories,

for a moment,

unmoors me.

Scent of ocean,

prickle of sea urchins

upon a shore I left

long ago.

So real I can taste

the salt in the air

hear the ocean’s

incessance.

Then the sea surges

through time

and appears

in tears

storms my soul

scatters my senses

to the waves

and wind.

Unmoored, my soul

billowed by breezes

of time and memory

becomes

emerges from

seeming stasis

begins the journey

home.

©2020 Joanne Young Elliott

Facing West

Image by JoAnn Mangione from Pixabay

When the figures on tarot cards face West

they are looking towards the past.

The past is behind us but ever with us and so

is never really gone unless we forget.

We cannot afford to forget the truths told

of deeds done long, long ago.

But we forget the long ago to cover the sins of ancestors.

We try so hard to keep the status quo.

Status quo: the chains that hold us in a place of comfort

sheltered from the truth, unchanged.

If we remain unchanged, we will stand facing West

and see only the past we want to see.

And when our sight is occluded by a veil of falsehoods

the West transforms into the land of death.

Those tarot figures face our impending death with sadness,

implore us to know how we got here.

© 2020 Joanne Young Elliott

Left Undone…

Image by Kristine A from Pixabay

Whittier College graduate

standing against

stone wall

smiling

for the camera

as black robe

opens to reveal

the beautiful dress

bought

just so you

could receive

your diploma

in style.

You stand proud

in front of

mother, sister

on a deserted

campus.

No ceremony.

No pomp.

No circumstance.

No crowds

to witness

your moment

on this sunny day

in May 2020.

So much closed

in this city,

in this country,

this world.

Even so

I head to work

by myself

in a lonely office.

Arrive,

park the car,

get out

and walk

by the empty

eyebrow threading salon.

Hear voices,

echoes from

another time.

Candid conversation

between

client and owner…

the laughter

of ghosts

a kind of haunting

the young graduate

will never have

of her day

on the stage.

Ages will pass

but that moment

never will.

©2020 Joanne Young Elliott