Do you think that I could ever forget the sound of your voice?
Or not remember the look of your eyes?
Do you think that I cannot stop, and in stopping, pause
and in pausing bring me back to when and where I want?
Nor do I exhume those memories, I am them;
I see the once, I feel the when, I taste the where and I breathe,
(deep and long) and I am me (the me then) while you, you’re my
always you—then, now and forever; and beyond that forever
whenever that forever ends. That’s what constancy
The first three weeks of March is the period of the Bahá’í fast, when Bahá’ís abstain from food and drink from sunrise to sunset. Although the fast is a wonderful time of spiritual renewal, unfortunately, for health reasons, my sister, Lucinda, cannot participate in the physical side of the process, so it is my honor each year to fast for the both of us. This poem comes out of a conversation we had one night during the fast.
This poem is in thanks for the privilege of having been her brother all my life.
The photograph was taken at Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona. To see my photography blog, please visit the Book of Bokeh.
Photograph, poem and notes © John Etheridge; all rights reserved. The poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original written work found on this site, unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is: © John Etheridge, https://bookofpain.wordpress.com. The photograph is not licensed for use in any way without the expressed consent of its copyright holder.