Green to Gold—Dust to Dirt
Memories, like leaves, start green and soft and lush. Life pulsates through them—pulling nutrients from the soil, soaking up light from the sun.
Each day they grow, dancing with the wind. When it rains, droplets—like crystal tears—kiss the foreheads of these vibrant green toddlers as they wave and dance and love.
At the peak of their journey, the very top of their game, things change: Winds shift; air cools; water (once the bearer of life) wears a frozen necklace to the party. The leaves grow old, shifting from glowing green to frigid gold.
So, too, our memories—once lively and living—fall to the ground, become brittle and brown, until they fall apart, devolving into ever smaller pieces. Then finally dust, swallowed by the earth, mixing with the dirt. Gone.
With Winter’s white blanket hiding their ever-lost graves, they await Spring’s thaw—when nature’s nudge will launch their journey from dirt to roots, through trunks and limbs, to touch the sun again—bringing joyful memories back to life.
Recollections & Reflections
The eye’s thread
golden year —
meets trimming shears;
my mind plays
hide and seek.
a wishing well;
patina covers copper —
penny for a thought,
if only I
the light of sea;
sleeping with the fishes,
sunken memories —
a two way mirror,
the former me remains,
the window pane.
One day when I was sixteen, I was prescribed Prozac. This was my first psychiatric medication. And I made a decision.
I made the decision to embrace the side effects.
Over the years, I have taken more and more of these drugs. Probably more than a dozen total. And with each new prescription, with each swallow, I embraced the fact that my memory might start to elude me.
I made the choice to spend my life happy, if forgetful. That was the trade. My memories as collateral.
I am convinced my prescription drug use has absorbed my memories. My brain is completely fried, unable to contain them.
My memories are somewhere up in the universe.
She used to read me stories upon her bed
And tell me tales I’ve never heard
She made up stories that made me laugh
And taught me lessons she had learned.
I didn’t know, then, they were her stories
The characters, people in her life
She shared her memories both good and bad
Those things she said upon her bed.
She told me ways she used to live
Her pictures were inside my head
I heard the voices in her stories
And turned the pages in my mind.
And when I grew up and made my own life
I repeated the things you said upon your bed
Your stories and characters became my heritage; for, your memories were a part of me.
And even now when you we visit, I’m reminded of your greatest stories - those memories.
They were never just to entertain me,
but to help me hold onto the memories
Those things that once filled your head, but now slowly diminishing
They’ll never fade; for, I make you this promise
Although you may one day forget your memories
I’ll tell your story, remembering all those things that filled your head
The things you shared with me upon your bed.
And now as I have my own babies, I’ll sit upon my bed
And tell your tales and your stories and share with them your memories.
In one Ear...
Déjà vu due is the common view
As our memories are never fully subdued
In line the episodes sit
Close bye bidding their time forever like this
On the back burner those warmer
So more readily they can be brought up quick
While other much cooler don’t stress the subject and get lost way back behind the molars.
Off the top of my head?
Not often stuck are they at the tip of your tongue
As rarely they’ve use for any if one
Outdone by the battle cry’s of the regulars
The reserves I’ve heard whispers of.
But know not the names of a great many their sum
Believed there indeed so as to be drummed up in a pinch if need be
I wouldn’t bet my life on it though
Memory Data Collection
Memories are like objects, floating in the ocean of our minds, barely denser than the water which the objects float on. Without any support to keep the objects afloat, they will sink and become obscured. While the sunken objects may seem gone, they are still there beneath the surface of our minds and in the subconscious, able to be retrieved.
Do you remember that time, when you were six and lost your favorite bear? What about when you told your first lie. No? Do you remember learning how to walk? I do. I remember every moment of your life. I am your memory. That is my name and I love my job. I store your memories. So when something happened and you can’t remember, it isn’t gone, it is with me, Memory. Sometimes I am in the place you can remember or what you like to, ‘on the tip of your tongue,’. I might not always be able to give you all of your memories when you need them but I try my best. If you ever are taking a test I try extra hard but sometimes you get so anxious that I have trouble finding my way. It is like an earthquake. You know, everyone has a Memory. But don’t worry, your memories won’t get mixed up with others because I am your personal Memory. And yes I am talking to you. No not someone who is on another screen, You. YOU! How to know your even reading this is a secret but I mean wouldn’t I know, I am your memory. Memories will never be gone just somewhere safely held.