Remembering This

Posted: February 5, 2008 in All and Sundry, Musings, Poetry & Verse, Random Observations
Tags: , , ,

waiting.jpg“I remember this— this sitting like drugged birds in a glass case— not why, only that we were here like this together.” (Adrienne Rich)

Memory is a monster. One has to leave it be, not fight it,  allow it to  wreak its havoc on your body, leaving scars, battle wounds along the way, until they heal in due time. Or else, you might grow wings and tie a noose around your neck one last time. I dig my grave every minute now. I dig it like how I wait for breaks in breathing, those moments that take your breath away. Waiting is loving in return. Waiting is memory in its precious state–there in the here and now of remembrances, not fending the arrows zooming towards you, but welcoming them in an act of surrender. Waiting is sitting here with a cigarette in hand, white smoke forming thought balloons that fade away with the gush of wind– a signal that it is time to go, to move, to make sense of waiting, then leaving it all to memory still. Then you die with each moment you remember, you die remembering you have to remember.

(free-writing exercise output just now in between breathing)

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