Memory

Tears of sorrow, tears of laughter
wash clean the window
through which our ancestors see us.

Dusty stores of memory may not
retain the details of the story,
yet bones feel
the resonances of history, as when
forces are in passionate imbalance
and ebb meets flow. The ancients
have lingered in these hedgerows
with honeysuckle, dog-rose and nettle,
where dagger and kiss nestle together
turning from hatred to hunger, from
hunger to hatred.

When denied what we want
or given what we did not ask for,
we may turn the tide to laughter,
or weep into the well
of the sorrows of the world.
This is healthier than
shrinking into the chamber
of the illusion of ourselves
of which the windows are barred with iron
and beyond which we yearn for a view.

Misha Norland

Price negotiable

24" x 20" - oil on canvas