Imperfections

someone once told me
the things we remember most
are the imperfections
plastic beads stuck in the cracks between the wooden floorboards
knobbly warm flannel sheets
yellow snapdragons pinched onto the ears of a little girl
all just imagined beauty and splendor
but it's things like these that we will hold on to later
that we remember
value
cling to
and if things were as arrant as we imagined
there would be no imperfections to recall
and all would be a single sheet of paper
clean, but blank and white
and there would be no Christmas lights in June
or broken pottery on the mantle
no candle wax upon the bookshelf
and nothing to remember





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