The Last Things I'll Remember

Friends, I came across a most beautiful poem by Joyce Sutphen, titled "The Last Things I'll Remember", and thought it might make a good prompt. Thinking ahead to the end of the story, when lying on the bed that will be our means of passage to the spirit world, what are the things we will remember? What shines with the golden glow of memory? 

Here is our inspiration poem for this week:

The Last Things I'll Remember

The partly open hay barn door, white frame around the darkness,
the broken board, small enough for a child
to slip through.

Walking in the cornfields in late July, green tassels overhead,
the slap of flat leaves as we pass, silent
and invisible from any road.

Hollyhocks leaning against the stucco house, peonies heavy
as fruit, drooping their deep heads
on the dog house roof.

Lilac bushes between the lawn and the woods,
a tractor shifting from one gear into
the next, the throttle opened,

the smell of cut hay, rain coming across the river,
the drone of the hammer mill,
milk machines at dawn.

                        *Joyce Sutphen from First Words

This poem is so beautiful. The hollyhocks remind me of my Grandma's garden. She always had hollyhocks, growing out back by the spot where Grandpa parked his car. My mother, on her deathbed, remembered her young years, when she was first in love with my father. My own thoughts keep returning, these days, to my grandma's cottage where I spent my early childhood.

Here is further inspiration from U.S. Poet Laureate Joy Harjo, whose work I love, on the art of remembering - not only at the end, but right now, in the later years of our lives. 

REMEMBER

Remember the sky that you were born under,

know each of the star’s stories.

Remember the moon, know who she is.

Remember the sun’s birth at dawn, that is the

strongest point of time. Remember sundown

and the giving away to night.

Remember your birth, how your mother struggled

to give you form and breath. You are evidence of

her life, and her mother’s, and hers.

Remember your father. He is your life, also.

Remember the earth whose skin you are:

red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth

brown earth, we are earth.

Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their

tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,

listen to them. They are alive poems.

Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the

origin of this universe.

Remember you are all people and all people

are you.

Remember you are this universe and this

universe is you.

Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you.

Remember language comes from this.

Remember the dance language is, that life is.

Remember.

By Joy Harjo

(Muscogee/Creek Nation, 3rd term US Poet Laureate).

So take it away, fellow poets. 

What do you think you'll remember towards the end of the story? 

Or

What things are you remembering tonight, this last night of 2025? What a year it has been!

I look forward to your responses. Thanks for taking the time to be with us.

The prompt is up till Sunday evening. Please check back for late linkers. And Happy New Year! May it rise above 2025, in every way.