Remember, For Amy

By ExoticHippieQueen © 2012

“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.” ― Heraclitus

 

Nautilus in black and white

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X-Ray image of hummingbird with hibiscus

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Source: Deadly Donna

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Remember how hard she was sent away.

Remember gagging on bowls of cold Jesus with milk for breakfast.

Remember the quiet from all the sides that weren’t talking

pink or blue, no gift receipt.

 

Remember the meaning of change and the cry for a long goodbye.

Remember the woman in the girl, stronger than red bullets.

Remember all the guilty parties, closing doors of the vault.

Remember the altered path of lightning, arcing here instead of there, in closer parts of letting love go.

The remembering pages scribbled in invisible ink, leaving blank words for the left behind.

 

She can’t remember mother love for a babysitter.

Remember how the rain cried for you, little bird.

She was remembering her two small, too small searching for their missing piece where mile markers once stood.

They were always remembered in the summer months.

 

Remember the big love with easy sex in circles of small, flat plains.

She remembered a baby girl more after a baby girl reminded her.

The remembrance of returning guilt has familiar sounds that only make some of the sense.

Remember the new dream lost inside of an old nightmare.

Remember turning to mountains of trees, birds that only hum and fly backwards.

 

Now she remembers choking down cold guilt with milk for breakfast.

She remembered finding herself hidden in all of her empty pockets.

Remember the wild bushes that she learned to hate.

Always remember the streets of September, the running to and from.

 

She remembers the steel rod holding her together in the falling apart.

Remember the ache of good gone bad, a drinking murder by mouth and stumble downs.

Remembering it’s been a while since love laid its hands on her.

She remembers crocheting a shiny new blanket of guilt, sprinkles new tears for the baptism of a quiet, sudden death.

 

She’s remembering how he never forgot her, she wants to forget.

Remembering to forget is the salt in the paper cut.

She’s sorry, she’s remembering, darkly built on the guilt of generations.

Remember the little birds for love.

photo

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