Let's Go Back to That Day
Since we have been there
before, the past calls out to us.
There is only so much space
in you allotted for storage,
so what you keep is broken
off from your doings,
in chips, in sheets, in slabs.
We never get there, the actual
past, so it drops in on us
with wide-ranging weight.
Trickling along your scalp,
a cool rivulet of regret
or satisfaction. Memory
can slink and it can drift,
imprecise and without boundary,
and memory can crash
down, thunderous, colossal,
the avalanche behind your eyes.
Your poems so often speak to me. This one captures some amorphic essential quality and gives it shape and heft. You are amazing!
ReplyDeletethis makes me think you're sad... are you sad? Don't be storialist, you are ever so talented and lovely...
ReplyDeletethea.
xx
Thanks, Kirie and Thea.
ReplyDeleteI don't feel sad, but this is definitely reflective and wistful.