Meaning of a Memory

Blades wet with dew
Toes of my sneakers a darker shade of blue
Lilacs marking the path by the porch purple and green
From front yard to back
On his fortieth birthday
My father did a back hand spring
I was at the red picnic table watching
‘Getting old’ he said
His voice mocking the number
I wanted to be just like him

A phone call
She never calls
While I’m at work
Tears, breathing
I remember her saying
‘Can you come and pick me up?’
Words as a weight
Dropped from a phone call
Irreconcilable memories
Weights in the water
I thought we would sink together

A recent conversation
Time tarnished memories
A spoken different reality
Undercurrents in conversations
And I can’t remake my family
Into my memories of our happy
Trips to the library
Just my mom and me
We made pizza together
Every Saturday
Avocado colored refrigerator
A trailer on the corner in the country
A garage I was always welcome in
Learning about tools and tractors
The way my mom yelled
Exuberance as I drove the old tractor
In my Dad’s lap
I was a Daddy’s girl

The invisible weight
Of all we lose
A picture
A memory
A lifetime of moments
Compressed into the happiest
And the saddest
A red picnic table
A phone call
This irrational reality


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s