Her Time Machine Poem by Richard D Remler

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Mrs. Beamish has a time machine
She never talks about.
It holds a bit of magic
She cannot live without.
She hides it in her living room
Where everyone can see.
It's just a silly looking chair
That shares an oddish history.

It is not all that attractive,
It's patchwork has all been spent.
It never talks, she never tells
Exactly where it went.
But, when Mrs. Beamish feels nostalgic,
When she feels that gentle call of time,
She will fire up her time machine
And it will whisper oh, so kind -
And she'll drink in all the wonder
As they days slowly unwind.
The first stop is her Wedding Day,
Where she'll maybe shed a tear.
As she spies the groom she married,
And wish he were still here.

She might linger in the shades of time
To see him hold their newborn son.
And she'll drink in every moments rhyme
And dot each tear drop one by one.
She'd follow him, recalling all
The joys he'd brought her life.
Never once regretting she had been
A painter's wife.

And there, she'd feel the pull of something
And she'd wander down the way,
And smile in wide-eyed wonder
As she watched her children play.
And there she was, beside them,
Younger than she is today.
Not so bent and weathered,
Her hair not so thin and gray.

'They were so young, ' she'd whisper,
As their laughter filled the air,
As the children jumped and ran and played
Sweet as an Autumn prayer.
They'd climb that moss-covered cottonwood
Just because they knew they could,
And watch the blue jays flit and play
Before the evening claimed their day.

Mrs Beamish would dry her tears,
As rainbows crossed her sky.
She gently folded in her hands
As time whistled on by.
She could almost hear the music
As the day sang to the night,
And she fell within the ribbons
Of times ever-budding light.

And when the stardust caught the breeze
And Mrs Beamish peered
Into the yellows, reds and grays
That oh, so gently cleared,
She saw her own sweet Mother,
And her Papa near a fire
In the dark and deep of winters cold,
And ready to retire.
She reached her hand into the light -
Where Papa tapped the fire bright,
To kindle every ember there
Into a fire warm and fair.
She'd remembered he was handsome,
Before the mines had claimed their toll,
Before the black lung nipped at him
Raw as aged steel wool.
And there she had to smile,
As she heard her Papa sing,
Something from her childhood,
And sweet as early spring.

She'd touch the gently falling snow,
And watch it dust the walnut trees
Feel it's winding, wild cold
Play within the winter breeze.
And Mrs. Beamishwould take a leaf
That nature sent her way,
Frosted still with winters touch
From February's soiree.

And that's when the winds of time would call
In their shades of then and now,
They'd tap, tap, tap 'remember me, '
Along her nodding brow.
And she'd feel the pulling neverwind
Toss ribbons through her sky,
And call her back into the when
And how and where and why.
And Mrs. Beamish,
In her most peaceful way
Would breathe in the wonder
Of the day,
And feel the quiet of her home,
That place where gentle
Wonders roam.
And she would smile
In her quiet way,
Remembering
Her yesterday.



Copyright © MMXRichard D. Remler