a jacket of nostalgia and fallen angels

a jacket of nostalgia and fallen angels

the landscape is sterile

autumn leaves a vast ennui

a Pendleton lady

once stood in her golden maple glory

she is gone now

footprints by the tree

a couple fallen eyelashes

60 year union with its patch of lawn

an unaccustomed notch

in the history of a yard

a view of a magic lake

such clarity to the bottom of a memory

a lone perch swims steadily

waiting

maybe a cousin to the one

I caught as a kid

my first fish

my first poem

only a dream

I still write

but the Pendleton lady

is now still life on a photo

that tree in dark dress stands

so many years later

the lashes blew away

with other memories

and life is less clear

than it was when I was seven.

erin-cilberto

12/26/25

Reviews

[BuzzyB]

The Pendleton Lady...You portrayed her as a beautiful memory. But she's more than that. A constant companion in every waking moment. A mother is like that. She never goes away.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

You really get it...you do.
j.

[BuzzyB]

I'm glad I could.

[Light and ashes]

Me, too. Jacob.

Me too...

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Thank you, Light.
j.

[Desert Knave]

Beautiful imagery here, and some that seems quite personally emotional, but I am stuck on the thought of the perch being a cousin to the one you caught as a kid, it kind of makes all of this the perfect mental snapshot. Anyhow, great read. ~Jim

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Yes, very personal. Thank you for your understanding, Jim.
j.

[Chris Shaw]

I see a photograph in rich autumn colour. I will always remember the hues of fallen maple leaves. The Pendleton lady may have left this plane but she lives on in the memory of those who miss and love her still. A beautiful poem j, the imagery lingers along with the maternal nostalgia.

Chris

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Sometimes there is love despite life.
Thank you for your understanding words, Chris.
j.

[Thomas W Case]

This is beautifully evocative — the images of the Pendleton lady, the lake, and the perch blend memory and loss with a quiet grace. I could feel the longing and clarity from your childhood lingering throughout.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I appreciate this thoughtful reply, Thomas.
j.

[John the Baptist]

The images of our youth were quite clear then, but maybe not so much now. The things that caught our attention then are much less clear now. But you do still write (and very well), and that is what is most important.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I don''t know how much writing is left in my pen...but I keep chugging along.
Thank you, John.
j.

[Jimmy Crapped Corn]

I know exactly of what you speak here.there was a weeping willow tree on my neighborhood that scared the be Jesus out of me. When I drive by it today I still get an uneasy feeling. . . Or maybe it's the drugs

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Funny you brought up that Willow. When I was a kid, the neighbor gave my dad a twig from his willow tree. My dad planted it. A couple years later my neighbor's willow was dead...our willow tree grew really tall and full and actually grew over our neighbor's garage...he was not too happy. My that willow you saw was a relative of ours and is still haunting my neighbor who is somewhere up there now...
j.

[Relic]

I think nature affects us more than we're aware of. It sits in our memories waiting for its turn to be remembered. Especially when we're young.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Nature itself and the nature of people...
thank you, Relic.