Memories or Visions, I Choose Visions

Memories float in and out
Are they real or imaginary? It’s often hard to tell.

My earliest memories are enveloped in mist.

I see a small blonde curly head
Running in slow motion through the garden.

A tabby cat is leaping through the foliage
To escape her grasp.

Cows in the barn, Dad on the milking stool.

All of these memories from a life I never really knew.
Not a life I grew up in.

Living in the past holds little interest for me.
I rarely dwell in my memories,

Rather, I spend my days,
Defining the nuances of light and shadow.
Exploring objects, thoughts, and emotions,
From my imagination or here in this space and time.

How can I translate this into an image on the page before me?
What is the instrument of choice today?
What story can I tell and who do I want to tell it to?

The magic comes in the process of the unfolding
Words and pictures brought together.
Reality created from a dream or a vision,
I am in awe of what emerges,
Every… single… time.

By Cheryl McDonald, 2023©

If you would like to listen to me read this poem, click below. Thank you!