Historical Memory

11 August 2021 Wednesday Prose Poem: haunting energies

Photo by Gabriella Clare Marino on Unsplash

Born far too late — everybody agrees. “The way your hair falls, your lipstick, hemline brushing your knees.” Not built for this time, so they say — but there’s always the flea markets and thrift stores —

Walk in through fences and forests of discarded energies, memories — run hand along hung shoulders, clipped waists; closed eyes, deepest breath — always that smell, everywhere — escaping the capsules of time, universal…

Here, wander through in lilted grace…as carpeted rooms turn to piazzas and cobble stoned paths of the past — collecting trinkets lost or left behind in my former life.

Caitlin Rebecca

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In response to J.D. Harms prompt.