A Memory Drill
An ode to the photographs that hid whether we smoked or not
For some still, it is a memory drill
The flash behind
The moments in our mind.
The terrace, the stone, the mountain pass
The bed, the lake, the bench, and the grass
The bodies jostling to stay in view
Of the sunset, the stars, and the surprised dust.
The airplane trails of vapor and white
We traced them with our eyes
Across the blue.
But now, like our shadows
Wet in the rain
We are dry
and below the awning remain
I shift my weight from the middle to the side
The shadow unmoved, not catching my slight.
The memories of those moments undone
The mountain, the pass, the lake long gone.
They move only a mite
Like a Turk in the night.
The photographs hide whether we smoked or not.
For the shadows in the rain
It was all the same.
—
Thank you for reading. You may like another, that rhymes.
