Old Memories

October 14, 2008
By Amie Scruggs, Columbia, MO

Watching the leaves that have turned their shades
Make their suicide jump to dead souls on the forest floor
And it brings up old memories, unwanted and knocking
On a vanishing door, and the bitter bile up my throat
My eyes shut, blocking out the light of the sudden
Flash of that husky laughter, of that breath on my neck
Of that inescapable touch…
Listening to the silent whisper of the cold snow
In my ear, as they land on the fingertips of the branches
Reaching for the moon, and the old memory is clear
Of the painful winter freezing my blood and breath
And hearing the sound that changed everything
His voice, with someone else’s name on his lips,
The fear of turning the door handle,
The fear of knowing…
Sitting on the bench in the park with the willow tree
Catching a floating leaf in my free hand, and the sun rising and lighting
A new day for this side of the world, and the old memory is fresh
Of this new boy’s nervous laugh at the awkwardness
Between us, and the silence followed by that light brush
Of his lips on my cheek, and how lately it seems the whole
World and all its joy is reflected in his eyes
When he looks at me
And smiles like he does…
Watching the leaves turn their shades once more
Gently falling to meet their peaceful sleep on the forest path
And it brings up old memories, but I leave them be
Waiting outside an opaque window, and my laughter makes him turn
And laugh with me, doing so without caring for rhyme or reason.
But I know old memories never fade, they only hide
Away for a while, or for ever, but are always there
On my fingertips, waiting to be remembered.
But not right now…

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