John Chamberlain

The day-to-day rhythms slide
one into the other like wrappers
tossed, containers recycled,
the remember-to-do notes fastened to the door,
but good memories, important ones,
attached by magnets, cling to the collage
of family, friends and identities, the narrative thread
of journeys, the where-would-I-be-without-this?
a hejira of picture postcard charms.

The day to day takes over, but on this wall,
where-you’ve-been mixes with who-we-are:
graduations, yearbook photos, childhood puppies,
holy days and holidays. Tonight in brushing past,
a glorious mother-daughter snapshot tumbles
to the floor. I pick it up and linger-remember
because it could’ve been swept away
or lost deep inside a drawer.
I reattach it securely, layer it
with others to make room for more.

The picture plus the precious
makes memory echo larger than before.
Sarah, John, Katie, Haley, their friends
and partners, our close friends, extended families,
concentric circles, now distant parents.
Memories rhyme, bring who-they-were stronger
to the fore, make mother and father
evergreen once more.

Our lives held together by tiny
refrigerator magnets, the pull irresistible
Magnets, like love, swift and mysterious, 
fasten memories, the nuclear pull of family 
and core of friends, held together 
as close-burning logs hold fire. Rhythm, 
rhyme, and memory keep us closer to the heart. 
Lives transfigured by moments held tight
on life’s daily, swinging door.