stories of ice and wind

 I had learned the secret of beautiful women

as a child, from a grown up man

and he shared it with me in return 

for me sharing a poem

He said that beautiful women forget

they do not bear old wounds on their chest,

they move forwards past storms

And they emerge clean and tall.

He too shared his thought 

in a poem, that i have mostly forgotten

as i have not pursued that kind of beauty

but rather the richness of memories

in all colors and flavors.

sometimes memory burdens

with the depths of its truths

of unforgivable but forgettable acts

justified or not by the quality of possible futures

sometimes the giver turns dark

under the shadows of known facts

but he always comes back.

sometimes he craves the innocent

and bare chested beauty

of the cleaner mind, the youthful body 

untouched, unmarked by scars

and the weight of predictions;

and he finds the way out

into the next day.

coming out into light

helps him make the decision

to break with the past.

and if you listen

there is an almost audible sound

of a heart breaking.

his sounded like ice

it was cracking for days

and when the piece that wanted 

to get loose finally broke

the wind took it, with all its weight

away it went on the waters.

whatever it's left

will grow back

keep coming those generous winters

and springstorms 

filling the rivers

with beautiful salmons

and paint on their backs

stories galore.