Ellie belfiglio

When I hear this sound that awakens me, intimidating its way into my cloistered night, I write…


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The minutes, the seconds continue to mount-

Into hours, weeks, I can’t count.

Each precious moment, a memory is stored-

Of a person, a thing, so special, so fully adored.

How is it I see the space isn’t there?

To stare at all memories that I want to share.

I’ve arranged and shaped, so everything fit.

Memories of candles, I’ve kept them all lit.


Days, weeks, months have turned into years.

Some laughters have turned to tears!

How can I forget? You’re always in my memory.

I must find a place, last place that you were dear to me.

Now I have discarded here, took some from there-

To wipe out any is so hard to bear.

But I must must have the space-

To store another memory that I can’t erase.

There! See! I’ve pushed and squeezed till it is in place.

I’v lastly made room to remember your face.

The face! The face is before me, but ah, what a shame-

That I can see your face, but forgotten your name!! …




Author: elliebelfiglio

I am a professor, a poet, an author, and an immigrant. I am the survival of many political and economical hardship. As a political immigrant, it took me a long time to master the English language and to come to terms that I can never see my family again. "THE PARTING FROM MY FAMILY WAS THE BEGINNING OF A FRIENDSHIP THAN THE END OF OUR FRIDAYS!" My autobiography, "THE RAIN STOPS IN TEXAS" was published in 1997 by Eakin Press. It can be found in Amazon. As Ernest Hemingway says, write about something you know, most of my novels are about cultural difference of the old and new and American style of living compare to my home country. My poetry are in all forms. I write as they come to me. My first draft is always my last draft. "THIS IS MY WORLD, WELCOME!" "THANK YOU FOR BEING HERE!"

Let everybody be nice!

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