Memories adrift on a dark sea,
They invade my conscious mind,
Like snapshots, vignettes of a time, of a life, a past life,
neither particularly wanted nor needed
but there all the same - And, like the tips of icebergs.
More below the surface than above.
They have a peculiar ability
to extract laughs and tears,
and , pain; yes, the pain is there too,
it's always there – You know - waiting
like some crouching beast.
Harmless memories:
cleaning a desk at the end of 1st grade
with lemons brought from home.
Watching as the ink from a
thousand missspellled words - is pulled,
pulled from the fabric of the wood.
Almost Funny memories:
Of singing a tisket a tasket
in a dreary school basement on a rainy afternoon.
Of walking into a wall and the blinding light of pain
And, as I lay dazed on the floor, the Nun hovering above,
like some vast Gothic specter in black and white.
Most Everyday memories:
Walking to and from our little Catholic school
Day in, Day out, regardless of the weather,
We walked: down the hill and up the hill,
Carrying books and lunch
And contraband.
There was always contraband.
Painful Memories:
Of a visit from our father on one of those rare occasions.
Of being told to hug him – And wondering, Why?
Of his smacking my brother - for saying - a word,
That sounded like a curse - but wasn't a curse –
Which he would have known, had he been there
More than rarely.
Exciting Memories:
Of moving to a new neighborhood.
To be on our own – away from him.
Just me and John,
And Carol and Mom
Friends to make, alley's to explore.
A new school, A new life, A new beginning.
Elusive Memories:
But if you were to ask me, What was it like,
As a kid, back there, in that dim, dim past.
I would stare blankly – I wouldn't know what to say.
The memories fail when they are bidden.
They seem to have a life and a will of their own.
They cannot be coerced. They cannot be forced.
They come as they will, and All I am permitted to do,
Is record their passing.
Bill Schatzabel - June 14, 2009
