Pamela Shea

The Rearview Mirror

Looking back, very far back, details emerge.

I see the useless dash on number seven,

And the oh so detailed cursive letters

That hung boldly on the classroom wall,

Behind the teacher’s well-coiffed head,

Haunting, and taunting

Like the playground bully

That I took out with a single punch

Under the gaze of another teacher

Who just turned and walked away.

In a hard-knock life both adults and children

Can feel like a scratched number seven.

Looking back, I see the detours taken

To the horror and chagrin of my parents,

Who had their own demons to contend with,

As I found out years later.

I sought not to be so rigid

In bringing up my own children.

They had their father for that,

Who had his own past to digest.

We all must find a measure of forgiveness,

Both for ourselves and others,

If we intend to stay the course

Despite obstacles along the path.

Looking back, I wish I had hugged more.

That wasn’t something I was accustomed to.

Both the hugger and the huggee win,

Unless the hugs are fake and unwanted.

I have had my share of those,

Which I try to forget but still feel down to my toes.

Yet they contributed to my growth,

So I will again try to find forgiveness,

That lies right alongside acceptance,

And, if things are going right,

Is accompanied by celebration

Both through the windshield and rearview mirror.

Oh, what tangled webs and beds we have lain in.

Surely others of both lie ahead.

That is the yin and yang of life.

Exaltation amidst the strife.

The road behind merges with the current route,

That then leads to the freeway before me.

Looking back, I see the lessons learned,

And the turns; I know more of each lie beyond,

So I will sing songs, the old and the new,

Perhaps even writing my own tunes,

With both familiar and unheard notes

That sing me, strengthened, into the future.