Wings Will Come: Journey – Part 13 “Traveling Bard”

My mom was the last of my family to move out west to Arizona. As the number of days to her departure dwindled, we spent time together reading, watching, and discussing old favorite stories. My mom has always been a woman of stories, and she instilled that same love in my brother and me. Through books and movies in the last week, we found strength in cherished memories and encouragement in the tales that had shaped our imaginations and philosophies since childhood. In these hours, I believe God helped ground us in familiarity and then gave us the grace to turn to the next chapters.
 
To catch up for the past few weeks, I will be posting several poems of the collection in short succession. Look for the fourteenth poem of my collection, “Wings Will Come: Journey.”
 
God bless,
Morgan
 
 
“Traveling Bard”
To Mom
 
you and I have been reading
a story together while you
flood recipe cards with ink.
we sit amidst boxes, boxes, boxes
and share a tale of hellos and goodbyes.
 
you, my brother, and I have been watching
one of our favorite old films of action, wit,
and adventure while we huddle together
remembering decades of our everyday journeys
that have tested our courage to the quick.
 
you, my brother, your soul-sister, and I have been playing
a trivia game that dredges up details from one of the oldest
stories that unites us: one of a long way forward
to great change. before it is over, we four
crowd in the dark around a TV screen to see a preview
of a new start to another cherished story that we’ll see completed
from different corners of the earth.
 
you have been a storyteller to me
since I had ears to hear.
you are off to be a traveling bard
while I keep by the fireside
until sun comes and I go
to live out the lessons nestled in
your tales.
 
 
Creative Commons License
Traveling Bard by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Advertisements

Wings Will Come: Journey – Part 5 “Typeset”

When my parents moved to Arizona, my grandfather went to move in with them as well, unseating one of the steadfast people in my life. This change shook out both memories and new stories from him, reminding me of the long years he has been there for me and sharing in words his deep, but quiet love for me and my family. It reminds me, too, of how God’s love worked for my family during this time: often quiet, but always steady and always strong.
 
Next week, I continue the story of my family’s move and God’s goodness in the change in the sixth poem of my collection, “Wings Will Come: Journey.”
 
God bless,
Morgan
 

“Typeset”
To PopPop
 
you’re going, too.
for some reason this
     feels the most surreal 
so far.
 
you are a
      solid, stoic rock I remember
      from my tiniest days as I 
soaked in the world
      and every story from the old days.
you’d tell them letter by letter
to us like type set into a printing press.
     roll on the ink and another tale
falls into curious hands.
     but your stories are going
away now.
 
in the months to come I’ll hear
so many stories from you: 
      some I know well and
      some I never did.
as you step outside your pale green
home on the hill and look westward
       toward unknowns,
you speak your once-upon-a-times,
your questions, your joys, and your worries.
 
your love has long been quiet and thick as
snowfall, tucked in around the landscape
     in a generous quilt.
unexpectedly around the kitchen table
your love makes it into print like your
old family stories,
              and perhaps this is your greatest family story
                yet.
I will remember these pages,
      read aloud in your deep, rich voice,
when you said we are precious,
      you are proud of us,
      we’re your world. 
 
I put my inked type beside yours in reply:
       you have been our world, too
and though our worlds are stretching now
     to make room for change,
we share the same skies and
the same stories, in new chapters.

 
 
Creative Commons License
Typeset by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

The end

Hi everyone,
 
When I was a young reader, I thought a story wasn’t over unless it literally said “the end” on the last page. Remembering this made me think of how we live on in Christ after our time here; there is no “the end” when we trust our lives to His grace. Like I always hoped as a child, there is another part to the story after that last page. Thinking on that, I composed this poem for those who are remembering lost loved ones. May you find comfort in our hope in Christ for new life and a chance for another, better tale.
 
God bless,
–Morgan
 

“The end”
 
no one said “the end”
      when the last page of your life was turned 
   and the cover was closed 
 
I want to think just as I did
      as a child 
   when I thought that if the story
         did not say “the end,”
   then it wasn’t really over yet
 
somewhere your story
       goes on in pages I cannot see from here
and I have a reader’s intuition
       that it is the best part yet

 
 
Creative Commons License
The end by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.