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Merle Hazard


I search their images,
these ancestors of mine.
Their sepia visages beckon me
with an insistent, almost
inaudible, hum.

Their eyes are not my eyes,
nor their lips. Yet here
a tilt to a chin,
the high bridge of a nose,
a hint of a smile,
the sly suggestion
of a special secret.

And so they lure me,
slowly at first, then
ever more eager,
I trace each dusty line
of faces long gone,
willing my fingers
to absorb the pulse,
feeling for the warm
breath of their stories.

by Merle Hazard.
Used with the author's permission.

Merle Hazard lives in Macon, Georgia. Her poems have appeared in a number of secular and inspirational publications. A home health and hospice nurse for many years, she worked as a director of programs as well as at bedsides. Now retired, Merle enjoys reading, walking, playing bridge, feeding the birds, her garden, and spending time with friends and family.

Post New Comment:
I love that the poem acknowledges the allure of our ancestors. Theres so much we want to, yet can ever know. Beautifully written.
Posted 09/28/2023 12:56 PM
Very moving and expressive
Posted 09/27/2023 09:51 PM
Lori Levy:
Posted 09/27/2023 05:28 PM
Sharon Waller Knutson:
I enjoyed this clever creative poem. Favorite image: willing my fingers to absorb the pulse, feeling for the warm breath of their stories.
Posted 09/27/2023 01:49 PM
That last line really spoke to me.
Posted 09/27/2023 01:13 PM
Wilda Morris:
Wonderful. I agree with Gerald!
Posted 09/27/2023 12:24 PM
Angela Hoffman:
Posted 09/27/2023 09:03 AM
Gerard Coughlan:
An excellent poem . I love the shy , tentative , respectful mood of the opening two stanzas . The conclusion has a significant mix of a growing bond...yet , a sense of great loss as the human - stories , of lives lived , will never be fully narrated .Well done . 'There is Birth and Death . The Interval is theatre . '
Posted 09/27/2023 04:28 AM

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