I don’t keep all my memories in boxes
Tucked away in square or rectangular cardboard
All glazed over with bright-colored paper
And sprinkled with stars.
My memories lie scattered about me
In haphazard places and on dangerous surfaces
Teetering on the edges, waiting to fall
Out on display, hidden in chaos.
Over there the ballerina en pointe
Long pink tutu,
Dancing to a song I no longer remember
Twirling, mesmerizing a five year old I still recall.
Glass enclosed bookshelves
Rescued from the trash heap
Carefully restored and gifted
Strewn once with frames and pictures
Voices telling stories, markers, places
People whose faces still laugh
Whose dreams I once knew.
Pain I saw as they buried their children.
All of my memories, pieces of story
Snatches of music, whispers of touch
All scattered around me–hidden in chaos
And my voice is silenced–no one listening.
Staggering: A Writing Trilogy
Changing lanes, leaning on walls
One scene to the next.
Chattering so quickly now.
Can’t type that fast . . . please.
Words no longer mine
Just theirs, telling a story