conjurer of memories
a week
or so
after the
fact,
the sad events
still so recent,
and present
in her mind,
the flat exudes
calm:
the bright late
morning sun
gently filters through
the bay windows,
forming dappled pools
of warm, soft
light across the
living room.
the welcoming, comfy
lines of the tan
couch,
the carefully chosen,
brightly-covered
art books, neatly
stacked on
the cherry coffee
table, the
well-dusted,
lightly-stained hardwood
floor, firm and
steady beneath
her bare feet —
all softly-worn, inviting,
and reassuring.
but then a solitary
black cup,
all-too familiar,
and carelessly left
on the windowsill,
comes into
view,
and instantly
recalls a mocking,
jolting,
and unwelcome
memory of him,
the ugliness and the
anger
of the recent
argument
shattering the calm
of the neatened flat
like an inner
earthquake.
its small porcelain form
throbs in her
head like
an emotional migraine,
as more unwelcome
memories rush
into the breach of
her consciousness,
one after another,
with the force
of a roaring
tsunami.
anger, doubt, pain
sear her
mind like a
scalpel’s cut
as she stares at
the offending implement.
her face crumpled
and twisted
into a deep frown,
she
careens along
the downward
slope
of these unwanted
memories,
eyes closed, fists
clenched,
mind racing.
this cup
of his,
this unwanted
presence
of him,
this reminder
of the
all too recent
past —
it must go!
away from her,
away from here,
away.
but as she clasps
her now
softly trembling
hands around
the cool, smooth
and familiar
ceramic shape,
the flood of past
experience into her
present tense
shifts and morphs
organically, and
her mind drifts
to other images
of older times,
and different
places — pleasant
springtime
afternoons in
central park, and
leisurely autumn
strolls along
wisconsin avenue,
memories
of love and life
and intimacies
shared
for an all too brief,
and precious,
time.
with calm hands
and
a soft sigh,
she sets it
down on a
cupboard shelf —
neither prominent
nor hidden,
yet always
present:
a treasured but
carefully respected
conjurer of
memories.
