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POETRY
Doves
When I hear doves I am six years old again
I am ten
I am seventeen
I never knew their song was the sound of home
until its absence left a silence in my ears
until it broke upon them again
moving closer
as a mournful reminder
that in the end a few notes are all that remain
I’ve written other poems about doves, including this one from 2020 when I still hadn’t figured out how to avoid the double spacing here on Medium
It’s funny the things that remind you of childhood, of your old home, of your beginnings. The sound of doves is one of those reminders, for me. I have a lot of sorrow these days associated with my childhood home, since my Dad’s stroke fundamentally changed everything about it, and I no longer feel particularly welcome there. Like Bruce Springsteen said “everything dies, baby, that’s a fact
But maybe everything that dies someday comes back”.
Sorry to be a downer! There is, of course, beauty and grace even in sorrow; after all, I wouldn’t have that emotion if it wasn’t marking the loss of something precious and good. Thank you, readers! What’s the sound of your childhood home, for you?
