Poem to the One I Love

I wrote this to my husband, who travels extensively for work. We met for dinner at a restaurant, as he was going through town on his way from Point A to Point B.

I noticed him watching me a lot as we ate, but he did not say what he was thinking. So I asked him…

This poem came to me on the drive home, and into the evening, so I thought I would share it here.

POEM TO THE ONE I LOVE

What do you think when you look at me?

I asked.

So now I ask myself:

What do I think when I look at you?

I see a healthy, clean, pleasant face.

Neatly trimmed hair around thin, refined lips.

I see a nose that moves slightly when you talk.

And eyes, clear blue eyes, like

A bright blue day-

With a few clouds scudding past.

I see wrinkles and crinkles of years

Of smiles by your eyes. I love those lines.

I see your brow, smoothing out

As we eat and talk.

I see a face more familiar than my own.

For who has gazed upon their own face

In conversation, in concentration, or at rest?

When I look at your face

I see love.

                                ~Brenda Visser, 2016

Happy Early Valentine’s Day Everyone!

Card- Love Blossoms 3

 

 

 

 

 

Transcribing History

For almost a year, I have been working on a unique project.

I am transcribing several journals of an early (circa 1900) Canadian, Mrs. Robert Simpson. Written in ink, in small notebooks, every line is full from one side of the page to the other; there are no margins at all. Her script is clear and tidy- there is hardly an error that she corrects, and if so, there is a tidy single line through it. The grammar is poor and run-on sentences abound. Yet these are remarkable because according to Simpson family lore, the author had no formal schooling.

Julia wrote these journals around the turn of the 19th century. The second wife of Mr. Simpson (his first having died), she had eight children with him, two of whom died in youth, and one who died at age 31 (childbirth?).  Her husband was of Irish descent, and perhaps she was too.

These journals are unique, because they are not a diary or a re-telling of daily events. Rather, they are fiction. “Lillian Angroves Choice” is the title of one of her stories, another is called “Bessie Heath’s Courage”.

Another journal is all poetry, exclusively memorial poems for those who have passed away. They all have the same heading: “In Memory of (name), who died (date), aged (number) years. A particularly poignant example is:

In Memory of Clara Evelyn Simpson, Died June 16th, 1912, Aged 13 years, 2 months and 12 days. 

This was Julia and Robert’s youngest daughter. One year later, she wrote another poem about Clara called “Not Forgotten”.

Another interesting and very valuable part of the journals is the family records Julia wrote on the inside covers of the them. She lists her own birth family- parents and siblings- with all their dates of birth and death. She lists her own children too.

This is a bit of a pain-staking project, but marvelously intriguing too. I so wish I knew more about her life. These journals are so tantalizing!