Memories

We sift through sand at times
Fingers looking for grains that either won’t slip
Or else
For grains that we need to see fall away
But days from now
…Weeks from now
… …Years from now
On days where we look back at beaches where we feared to swim
And talk of days we never dared to dream
We remember moons on cloudy nights
And suns when storms are at their worst
We see the sharpened edges dull
And the imperfect moments honed
Until they are so sharp
The only thing they can do is cut
So much nostalgia
…Rose-colored glasses
Memories of lipstick where lips never lived
And words never breathed
But memory is like that
We hold on to the things we want to keep
And we let the other things fall away
So what we’re left with is an
Imperfect r
ecollection
Of imperfect events
Like putting a pretty frame
Around a lonely picture
With burnt edges
Hiding the places that hurt
Saving the ones that didn’t
Keeping the grains
And forsaking the hourglass
Looking so lovingly at those hazy mirrors
For the reflections that never really were
And hoping to see them again
Because that’s what memories are
The hoping for yesterday
In a world filled with nothing but tomorrows


I don’t normally do free-verse. If you follow me, you know this. Anywho…here’s a free-verse poem because…reasons…¬†

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Spell

Sometimes I lose the letters in your name
The spelling so eludes me
And the syllables confuse me
And I falter when I type it, though I know it’s still the same

I wonder, then, how this could come to be
How one that mattered greatly
Could become a name that lately
I now hesitate to type as if a word I’ve never seen

Sometimes I start to think that I forgot
Your name and how I’d daily
Think your messages could save me
And I longed to be a fly and in your web securely caught

But now the web is like a growing gray
My wings no longer flutter
And I struggle just to utter
What your name is as I lose you like you’re hours in the day

Modulus

It gnaws at me, the question
For you answer in suggestions
And my feet are a cliff – but should I leap?

I think to that November
Wondering if you remember
What we said before you left to go to sleep

For all the hesitation
And the stinging resignation
There is but a single question stirring deep

Forsaking any closure
If we had to do it over
Are there any parts of me you’d want to keep?