memories as character builders

Remembering

I was in a convenience

store  on the way home and

in my hand appeared a grocery

list of my broken dreams.

I walked further into the

store,  “ Clean up on aisle three”

said the voice overhead in

reference to that smoldering  

summer I watched the

trees with falling

leaves made up of moments

that used to be as familiar as my

morning routine. One by one

they  fell to the ground

as the moment passed and became

past .

The gentle breeze caressed my face

and brought with it a scent that clung to my

clothes and transported me to that night

 we spent hours learning about each other

learning about ourselves.

We  looked up and the sky

had already danced with the moon

and dawn was taking its turn

for  only for a few moments

as the sky was saving its last

dance for the sun.

Did you know that the sidewalk

is concrete blocks of feelings

forever cemented and watermarked

on all the versions and definitions

of who I am and  who I will become.

I walked, losing and finding

 myself all at once. Remembering.

Reverence

The moment I learned to love,  

You tacked my beating heart on your wall.

From time to time you would 

wipe the pool of dripping blood

 never pausing to consider why its bleeding 

You’re used to the beating echos;

background music to your mundane 

routine, an everyday reminder of your worth. 

You are so carefree, never a thought to the day I would 

stop beating, its suffocating  loneliness,

I’ve been so thoughtless

I filled the open wound in my chest

with memories of our time on the last 

day of our world. Reverence was spelled out 

with each  stroke of your rough hands on my anticipating skin. 

Together, tangled, twittering in the overarching moment 

between, "I  belong with you, we were meant to be" and 

"I know your heartbeat, it’s not in tune with mine.

I'm Sorry

Other rough hands have made that faithful journey 

along my skin, teachers on  how to spell comfort, 

passion, regret, never reverence, never lasting, 

never forever.

Memories are tricky things. On a good day I can barely remember where I put my phone, keys and sometimes my sanity. I wrote these poems a long time ago and I forgot for while that I had written them because its not what I do. . The funny thing is I remember the exact feeling and moment in which I wrote these. They were stories that had to be told and I couldn't keep in. So I took pen to paper and when I looked down this was what was left. I am very proud of them. They were written months apart but the share the memories thing I didn't notice until writing this.  I am fascinated by memories, they are important to me in some way that I can't explain but I guess that's part of the journey.