It is easy for the things around us to
soak up, absorb, dilute memories.
It is easy for us to think about time as
something that can only be judged by
how long since that, or this, or then?
I was walking down my hallway and it
kept going and, kept going and, kept
going, and going, and…
I decided to stop because I had grown weary of
walking down a hallway that I thought
should have reached the bedroom by now.
The walls grew up larger, and daunting and,
shadows arched up from things I couldn’t see and
I sat down on the carpet and I
I felt lost.
I’d been down here a million times over again but
this time it looked different.
Like, I’m five, at the beach, and I’m lost, and
the sand is the same and the ocean is the same but…
It’s gonna eat me up because I can’t find a hand to hold.
And I scream, and I scream, and I get tired of screaming so
I sit down until I am found.
The ocean dulls to a
roar, a gentle, quiet,
I wiggle my toes because I feel safe in a place that
just a minute ago,
it as gonna,
sure it was,
gonna eat me alive.
Now I can feel the texture of every single
little piece of
this ugly carpet and
if I close my eyes and open them again
things will probably look just as they
ought to look
You know, the funny thing about memories is,
they absorb into the things around us.
And even little things like
lint, or, a little twisty straw, maybe
a certain time of the day
they can change in meaning
all the time
depending on how you feel.