Antiques

Dear friend, 

       Here's a poem that I wrote on the thirteenth of January of this year on the typewriter I bought during my trip to the Philippines. This is before the ink and the 'e' key got messed up somewhere within the device, so I thought I'd share one of the pieces I was fortunate enough to craft before that happened, with you. The poem is titled "Antiques". 

       A lavender slipper from the fourteenth century.

       A silver vinyl hanging from the brown hooks on an old wall. 

       

       A broken typewriter with rustic keys sitting on a wooden table.

       A vase with a reflection of gold, priceless & hidden. 

       

       The sound of a shutter that no longer works, 

       an image captured, a scene stilled, a silence arrives. 

        

       Tables are set, meals prepared, prayers spoken.

       Friends gathered in a circle, timeless, unchanging. 

 

       Stories of days long gone, a hallway of memories. 

       A lost possession, stolen artwork - the thief. 

       Hands clutching, feet moving into the darkness, 

       an empty void; free from the autumn street. 

       Far from the wet snow underneath our boots, 

       distanced from the space between our words. 

       Until nothing but a faded memory remains. 

       A voice that has lost its meaning, stuttering. 

       A smile that is hollow, carved by space & time. 

       A background figure, a passing cloud. 

       Shovels pierce the ground below, a mirage broken 

       An artifact removed, restored to new life. 

       It whispers delicately & laughs softly,

       hand in hand, a pair walks home on a May morning. 

       The sunshine escaping through an overcast sky, 

       her face illuminated, brown eyes wandering. 

       She stops in the middle of the path, relieved. 

       A museum that closes at the sight of six. 

       Bodies shuffle out, the lights are dimmed. 

       The stories remain, a set of well-dressed strangers. 

       Speaking in wordless conversation, simply staring. 

       Patience until the film rolls, a brilliant sunrise.

Love always, 

Rave 

Juhae Haam, 2020