Of Memory
Across marshes
We gild our lilies.
Is that how it was?
A tale of endless summer days
Edited so expertly.
On the cutting room floor
In swirling cellulose
Lie discarded scenes
And nameless faces
Lines once said
But since unheard.
Perhaps the truth is tangled there
Like ticker-tape
After the parade.
After the parade.
Long ago
I carved my name on a sapling
But healing bark and moss
And seasons churning
Have obscured the lines
Till I'm no longer sure
I gouged it.
And I think to myself...
Is that how it was?
4 comments:
Absolutely beautiful, YP, and so true. You have such a gift with words. Still sifting photos? xx
Dropping my 'E's now; sorry about that - I expect you guessed it was me, anyway!! xx
Lovely, just lovely. I think the repetition of 'is that how it was' is particularly effective.
'LIZABETH & MS GEORGE Thank you - especially as I know you are both wordsmiths yourselves. I was trying to convey the way in which our memories play tricks on us till you reach a point where you wonder whether or not a particular event happened at all. Our memories also have a habit of overlooking so much and retaining, often without good reason, seemingly trivial moments.
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