Writer - Author - Poet
Writer - Author - Poet

I learned at a young age that daydreaming about what I wanted or needed not only filled the empty void of my longing, but often satisfied it as well. The small settlement I grew up in did not have much in the way of merchandise stores so I used to spend hours leafing through the free Sears & Roebuck catalog that made its way to our house about twice a year. The spring catalog was filled with trendy swimsuits and lounge chairs and water pistols and classy knickknacks. The fall catalog had all the Christmas toys and warm coats and fashionable kitchenware or household objects. I used to play this game that I could have one thing on each page for free, but if I chose two things, I’d lose, and have to forfeit my wish before I could go on. I spent hours and hours with those catalogs and when I was finished, my hunger for material things evaporated. Which was a good thing because my parents couldn’t afford much.

When I left home, I continued to play that game, leafing through more modern magazines at the dentist or doctor office or on a plane or waiting for the thousands of matters I’ve had to wait for over the years; yearning for a new home, an updated washing machine, replacing timeworn furniture, stylish clothing or buying gifts for my loved ones.

And although my life has improved significantly since those days, I still catch myself playing that game, not to hope for a new living room couch or an up-to-date television or a fancy vacation, but to remember how far I’ve come, how my imagination saved me, and how it still does.

Ode to Youth

Sometime in the morning light

it seemed I was climbing

a mountain

with my memory helping me up

but later

I see my hand

wrinkled with brown spots

and remember

the years

since that time

I raced up slopes

free and full of promise

eager for the summit

my chest to seemingly burst

open like a thousand

migrating birds

leaving me speechless

as the wind played with

my hair

and sunlight danced

into my heart.

How did you find solace this week?


© 2022. Sharon Kreider. All Rights Reserved