Thursday, August 09, 2007

I Don't Want to Forget

28 March 2007, 8:39 PM

I don’t want to forget how it feels
not to know if you want me; to wish you did;
to fear our first meeting, and yet long for it
with every fiber of my carefully assembled
person, outside and in- curious if this is the place
where Love might grow again.

I don’t want to forget the rush of hearing
words I never thought that I would hear,
after watching as you fumbled with your fears,
your dignity and confidence, wondering
what you really meant by coming here today;
to wish you wouldn’t leave before you bring yourself to say
you’d like to see me again, because I so enjoyed the time.

I don’t want to forget a single syllable
of Edward, James or William,
and I want to remember When Africa Was Home.
I’d very much like to taste that Port
just one more time before the memory gets past me,
and you become so familiar I can’t remember
what it’s like to wonder what you’re thinking,
if you’re wanting, when and if you’ll see me,
how long it’s been since I’ve been in the presence
of a man who wasn’t focused on the Goal-
had I ever known a man who wasn’t fixed upon
some distant point he’d never actually see
if he refused to move his eye from it to look at me…

I don’t want to forget sharing Indian food,
plans gone awry, and mystical encounters
in chaotic spaces; finding Home in unfamiliar faces;
faces we would barely have noticed a year ago;
faces we could not live without today.

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George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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