Wednesday, April 29, 2009
An aged memory tugs against the sheets, hardly breathing, trembling against the dark that contained it. Flashing, more flashing, forgoing space and time, it asked:
What season kissed death and brought it to life?
What vowel fell illegitimately only to speak serenely of novelty?
What tear survived and quenched earth’s desire for water?
What ponderous sin set the world in order?
What was spoken but was never said?
A younger memory coyly replies: That season and that vowel birthed hope
It glowed, shimmering, burning to the touch
Leaving ashes to the wind
That tear and that sin offered forgiveness, so sweet and yet poisonous
Silently humming to the wind
It said nothing but sank against its flesh, before realizing it never said anything.
Some memories just die, prematurely.