(T’)Shuva

When memories return
Especially older ones
They can be a blessing or a weight

But when they’re a blessing
Well
It’s a joy
Even the ones that are tinged with sadness

Reading an old letter
From a father to his father
Tears falling
Recognizing his grief in yours
Wanting to comfort him
And be comforted

An older memory still
Your own grief
For something bigger
Than you understand
And somehow still
The comfort is there
From a father with his own hurts
From an aunt
And of course
From a mother

And after the grief
A pause
A breath
And a step

Sometimes there are memories
Which were one thing then
And something else
Altogether
Now

What I thought was fresh air
An open door
A font of strength

Was a chain
An infected wound
A sentence
A lie

I see now
And reject you
Utterly
And I leave you to your own devices
(To wither? To rot)

While I return
With all those I embrace
To the bosom
Of love