” Glass in All the Windows” a Poem by Jennifer Christian

September 25, 2024

I envision a future of peace and of calm.
A future with children and grandchildren for balm.
A future in a little house at a bend in a creek
With glass in all the windows for me to keep.

I see the glass.
It’s colored and stained,
With images of ache
and sorrow,
But also of beauty and life sustained.

The details of memories enhance the design.
Stories of first steps, first songs, and first night.
Sequences of relationships –
Some lost, but some upright.

These motifs, held together with a metal called lead,
Pulled together and soldered in the homekeeper’s head.
The strips – maybe wryly – referred to as calms,
Solidify the stories that do here belong.

Housed and supported in a rigid frame,
The windows of this house, a lifetime contain.
The woes and the triumphs – they steer our paths –
But you have to partake to let them amass.

The rigid frames tidily house these tales,
Hemming in the regales of old and of its prevails.
The memories bonded together for all,
Who look and who seek to gain their windfall.

But when the house falls, the frames will falter.
They’ll crash and they’ll shatter, like a sinner at the altar.
Splintering, their stories will be lost.
From ashes to ashes, they’ll turn back to dust.

So, uphold the windows.
Shore up the walls.
Bear witness and listen,
To tales small and tall.

The elders house stories,
So, sit down and listen.
They have wisdom to share,
In the sun, it will glisten.


Share:

I envision a future of peace and of calm.
A future with children and grandchildren for balm.
A future in a little house at a bend in a creek
With glass in all the windows for me to keep.

I see the glass.
It’s colored and stained,
With images of ache
and sorrow,
But also of beauty and life sustained.

The details of memories enhance the design.
Stories of first steps, first songs, and first night.
Sequences of relationships –
Some lost, but some upright.

These motifs, held together with a metal called lead,
Pulled together and soldered in the homekeeper’s head.
The strips – maybe wryly – referred to as calms,
Solidify the stories that do here belong.

Housed and supported in a rigid frame,
The windows of this house, a lifetime contain.
The woes and the triumphs – they steer our paths –
But you have to partake to let them amass.

The rigid frames tidily house these tales,
Hemming in the regales of old and of its prevails.
The memories bonded together for all,
Who look and who seek to gain their windfall.

But when the house falls, the frames will falter.
They’ll crash and they’ll shatter, like a sinner at the altar.
Splintering, their stories will be lost.
From ashes to ashes, they’ll turn back to dust.

So, uphold the windows.
Shore up the walls.
Bear witness and listen,
To tales small and tall.

The elders house stories,
So, sit down and listen.
They have wisdom to share,
In the sun, it will glisten.


Share: