And one day it was just gone but I will always have the memory of you stroking my soft hands and telling me it was a sweet freckle.

by Amy Turn Sharp


when the weather turns
dialing down the heat
whispering chills between shoulder blades
I go back to the desire to remember all of the people that I have been

every year it's harder to wrap my wool cardigan around the facts
that there was a time I traversed roads and main streets untethered
I walked alone
I carried less knowledge
I floated like gauze

I wish I knew what the landscape of my gran's mind looked like
on the inside
I know how very layered and tempered mine seems now
very interested in knowing what 90 years old looks like
how does she remember herself?

yesterday she told me things
we sat touching noses and whispered tiny agreements and
wet eyes were in the room
all of the tears revolve around time
and the way it has rushed right to this moment
this Sunday afternoon
in a small room
time that really doesn't go anywhere
it just hangs there
round
pushy

she announces that I am young still
and although I think I know things
I have not been through enough
not enough years
times round the sun
to see it like a shiny penny on a dirty street
(This scares the shit out me)
because there is more good and bad coming
it's like a swirl
and let me hold someones hand for 60 years
or live in a house where babies were pushed out into sunshine rooms
and then those babies had babies and those babies had babies
and we all ate apple pie at at the same damn table

Sometimes in the fall
I just want to talk to someone
who knew me when I was little kid
or when I was 13 years old
someone who can verify that I did indeed
once have a beautiful freckle
on my left hand middle finger

I want to be reminded of those people I used to know

I want to practice my remembering

photo via tumblr