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IMOGENE’S NOTEBOOK
A Gentle Name To Remember
A poem
The flash of ambition blinds soul retinas.
I want it to be a gentle beam — one that
wakes me softly on the loudest days,
where my eyes can mark a path ahead,
and my feet can march in pitter-patters —
no wide leaps, no double-speed parkours
to steal the stillness from the rhythm,
batter my heart with motion migraines,
or reach the journey’s end from the start.
The years pass each other like revolving doors.
Two thousand and twenty-three steps
blur and blend into a stranger’s face —
two thousand and twenty-four.
Had I named each, I would have lived them
one by one.
This year is still in the cradle,
teething on old habits and anxieties.
It wails for peace, hungers for wisdom,
swings its tiny fists, grasps at clarity,
and unknowingly lets go of clutter.
It sees me unfocused — I will hold
its gaze until it sharpens my edges.
It hears only muffled self-promises —
I will hum a sun-bathed Clair de Lune
and dance a C major Swan Lake,
steady and uncomplicated…