Annie Neugebauer

‎Originally posted on Friday, ‎May ‎13, ‎2011, ‏‎11:10:00 AM

This poem won the Popular Prize in July of 2010 through the Poetry Society of Texas. It was first published in Collections I, an anthology of the 2011 Merging Visions Exhibit. [Note: This poem has also been read by narrator Xe Sands. Click here to listen to the audio recording.]

Missing Pieces

When I was growing up,
you were always whole unto yourself,
just Dad,
complete because you were alive
and I could observe you in front of me:
hear you, touch you,
and see that there were no pieces missing.

But now you’re scattered
as surely as your ashes,
and I am left a collector of you—
a puzzle maker—
trying to gather and fit together
the pieces of who you were.

Years after moving away, I am still unpacking
boxes that hide secret remnants of you,
and I can’t let go,
for the memories I’ve written
are grown old, and stagnant poems
are not enough
to make you whole again.

© Annie Neugebauer Tilton. All rights reserved.

Originally posted on April 11, 2011 at 11:18 AM

This poem first appeared in the the Merging Visions Exhibit compilation titled Collections I. It also won first place in the Brazos Writers contest last year. For those of you who are interested/curious, the form is called a pantoum.

River of Life

Beneath the bridge, the water courses on,
over smooth creek rocks in copper and blue.
We, on the bridge, now regret that you’re gone,
leaving us in these mountains missing you.

Over smooth creek rocks in copper and blue,
we pour out ashes of you that remain,
leaving us in these mountains missing you,
arranging small stones to spell out your name.

We pour out ashes of you that remain,
scattering wildflowers into the wind;
they float past small stones that spell out your name;
we watch them drift onward, around the bend.

Scattering wildflowers into the wind,
we, on the bridge, now regret that you’re gone.
We watch you drift onward, around the bend;
beneath the bridge, the water carries on.

© Annie Neugebauer Tilton. All rights reserved.

Marionette

The tiny puppet,
jerked by harsh strings,
rattles on his
faulty hinges,
painted lips
stuck in a smile
no more
than a baring of teeth.

© Annie Neugebauer Tilton. All rights reserved.