Memories stir in the waters
of Lake Michigan;
They ripple outward, opening
a doorway.
I step through and see
myself as a child
On the beach, surrounded by wave-washed stones.
I want to take them all with
me
So I can hold onto a part of this
day
To fill the impending emptiness with tangible weight,
I long for the possessions of a
moment.
But I cannot choose only a
token few.
I want the blue stone, soft
as faded jeans,
And the grey chipped rock,
revealing
More shaded layers than I
can count.
I keep the red and white
granite
That flashes with sunlit
fire;
The smooth brown skipping
stone;
The white one shaped like
half of a broken heart...
Against advice, I weight my
arms with rocks;
Clutching these childish
souvenirs
As ammunition to resist the
loss of memory.
They keep falling from my
grasp,
Yet I’m unable to leave my
chosen burdens behind.
I keep dropping them, even
now.
That is how I live. I’m still carrying
All these things I think I
need.
