Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Mr. Woolf and I

Memory, what use are you when
their lives
flash
right before my very nose
eyes ears mouth hands
and you remain.
A letter useless
I'd rather a hand to hold.
No, Memory
you are not a satisfactory
replacement.
I would jump
swim, pull her head above
the raging current
hide all the rocks.
A poor companion,
Memory,
to separate the warmth of living.
No! I do not want you.
Why should their lives drown
flood over
and I watch from the banks
one word too late
alone, left with you,

my slippery Memory.

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