Letter to a Memory
by Kate Wright
When you call to mind
a memory, the “perfectly pure” moments
aroused and awakened in the head never actually equal
the original, but mirror
the image of what you remembered last.
Scientists say we act like glass blowers
repeatedly shattering a makeshift sheet
of memory, returning to it to pick
and choose the perfect pieces, melting
and swirling them with the vibrant shades of sea foam, lemon yellow, grass green
glass that we long to see, reluctantly adding the uninvited
shards added by those who remember better than us.
We slave, labor, and create something
that gives us an uncontrolled grin and hold it
out to the world, cracked, chipped, seamed, and flawed,
knowing someone will smash it again.
Or maybe we tailor our memories,
cutting and trimming to best suit ourselves,
ripping and tearing at the seams, altering
the unflattering and embellishing
with all sorts of fake shine, parading
our creations around town, accepting
the criticism, and continuing our alterations
to try and please the ever-changing styles.
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