Your Hand I Remember(edit 2)

[brynmawr1]

I.

The past a thicket
dark and brambled.
Memories flit branch   "memories" tells us the past is the thicket you are referring to   Good point.
to branch, offering 
treasured glimpses,         bright?   not sure that's right either.  I'll have to ponder.
precious song bird’s faint 
calls logged and recorded.  poem enters alternate realm at this line   Is this good or bad?  I might reword those last lines a bit in light of your previous suggestions.  More pondering.
 
But you,
you caught in the thicket,
what can I hope
to remember of you?           great intro to what follows   Glad you liked this part.  Was very close to cutting it at the last minute.
 
II.
Lily of the valley
your favorite flower
remember
your house on Martha Washington
those stairs the height of Everest
how me and the cousins we tumbled
down again and again playing
octopus, Grandpa grasping for us
before the blazing living room fire; great visiuals here
a child’s thrill of wishing against
wishing to be caught. But never you      this threw me a bit, you're saying you rarely saw her, except as below?  Yes, thinking back she was always in the background.  I left out some details about how my recollections are more about what she did(the food, her collection of Hummels) rather than actually interacting with her.
 
glimpsed carefree, song sung quietly
rarely heard in memory, I imagine
 
sitting in the kitchen
at your pink Formica table
talking, just us two, your
Lauran Bacall gapped grin,
the curl off your cigarette, hanging
on every missing word never
heard from you to know you.  another great description, so many fine details, last line is a little tricky.  Yeah, I tend to do that. Yet more pondering.
 
III.
It could’ve been the light
of an early fall or the height
of summer not letting
on that time is late when.     vagueness of time leading up to another run of great imagery gives reader a break  I just noticed there is a period, oops.
I held your hand 
in the bright hospice room
not knowing what else; comforted
by the quiet bustle of soft
shoed nurses. Quick to smile,
they hustle tucking
blankets and tending pumps
and morphine drips to the regular
rhythm of ragged breath all
wishing against wishing               great use of echo here
each is your last.
 
Your hand I remember
delicate, bird-boned
skin whisper soft
spotted and thinned
by years, held 
such heat, a glowing
ember of yesterday’s fire.  Whisper fine ending  Thanks. This isn't where I was going to end it, just happened that way.

Hi Bryn,

This shows signs of previous endless polishing, so, for now, (I may be back), these are my comments.  I liked the way the poem ebbs and flows, as one quiet moment is followed by a dense section of lines of movement and action.  One of the best elegies I've seen.

One suggestiion about a different title:  "Your Hand I Remember".

TqB 

Hi TqB,
And fine comments they are.  Too endlessly polished, perhaps?  Not so much on paper, but for a long time in my head until I finally made myself write it down.  Getting over a mild case of Covid gave me some extra hours to fill; writing and making bread.

Titles!  Useless in my hands. The one I used kind of a place holder.  I do like your suggestion.

Thanks for your critique and kind words,
bryn