Monday, December 26, 2011

Memories


You cut a picture in the mirror:
a stranger,
a self against self
struggling
to remain donna erecta.

What stories will you share
with your grands,
stringing popcorn
on the tree,
brittle
reminders of the
once plump seeds,
now puffed-up
in memory's hot chambers?
.

Better these than
the grey ashes in the fireplace,
spent,
easily disposed,
cold with neglect.

Once, you tell,
you played with your food, with everything,
the taste
and juice
of each
pomegranate seed.
You
let it sit
perfectly
still
on each tooth
until
there was no more life in it, and you
spit it out without regrets.

Now, you don't dare put that seed in your mouth!



4 comments:

  1. OH! rosaria! how i love this. but the last line. why the last line? my god, rosaria, end it without regrets:)

    LOVE!!!!

    xo
    erin

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  2. Ah!!!!!!
    Now, your teeth have gaps, your gums have problems. Now, only in this now you choose your pleasures carefully, as a seed can surely indent your mouth.

    It is this moment that sends me back to other moments. It is this that pulls the past into the mirror of memory.
    Thanks for the visit, Erin.
    Without you, I would not know what to do with my words. You inspire me all the time.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Memories are strange things. It is a beautiful poem, I was a little surprised by the last line though. Somehow, I didn't expect it.

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