Somewhere between yesterday and today,
the scissors swam into oblivion.
I remember their silver shimmer,
like sunlight on a fish's back.
My left sock eloped with the dryer,
my favorite pen now a phantom.
They leave no notes of departure,
no postcards stamped "We'll be back soon."
I once found my keys in the fridge,
cold and smug beneath the butter.
Phone sleeping heavy on bookshelves,
its silence casting shadows on dust.
But what really evades my grasp
is the name of the street I grew up on,
the last words my grandmother told me,
the crisp, whole shape of my own edges.
I am a curio cabinet of forgotten moments,
each crevice lined with half-remembered songs.
But isn’t it strange how I still know the tune
of my mother's laughter, even in dreams?
Scattered though I am, undone like thread,
I weave a map out of memory’s frays.
I lose things, yes, but not everything—
not the heartbeat of what makes me, me.
-
Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: March 3rd, 2026 10:43
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments2
Funny how somethings disappear and others stay. Lost my car key the other day found it three days later in the last place I looked. Words escape me at times only to surface when I don't need them and funny how I only remember things when reminded that my story doesn't match that of another. A great write my friend and a fave
Thanks Soren I appreciate your honest, insightful feedback my friend
You are most welcome
'memory’s frays' just about sums it up. Words/terms missing just when I want them; actual names appear I haven't thought of for years. And I have absolutely no wish to mention possessions lost in the small cupboard (OK - bedsit, studio) I call home. Relevant, too relevant a write..
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