memory
today the sun broke
the juncos came back one
in the red
maple hops branch
to branch while my daughters watch
the high
thin laughter of old
cartoons at work the swallows have returned rattling
air with rapid
beeps
& dives
motes
of heat too quick
for shadows
these are one
kind of memory like the map the great
blue swims each year or the paths moon
flies from night
to morning
these are the big
memory that pops a messiah
from the crowd every 1000 years
or so & drowns the dinosaurs
in the dust of a pre-
nuclear nuclear
winter
my father remembers
not buying me a new bike after a childhood
accident I remember
my newspaper manager's ink bruised face close
to mine the stink of his stale cigar & a wail
spilling from the ambulance
like blood & bent over a shot
& beer the driver a retired cop forgets
but wants to know
the score flickering
above the bar as the bartender wipes dust
from a row of unopened bottles
a black man his name
covered by dirt rises
from the base path claps
& the jukebox skips
a beat so
skillfully no one notices anything
is missing
these are another
kind what we create as the air
eats our lungs food
for dreams images for the soul
to rise to & snap
like insects from the passing
waters
today the sun broke
my mother sits with a basket
of family pictures in her lap a nest
of exiled memories her mind an un-
broken shell holding only its last
breath
we hand her our newest
born & she remembers
how to rock
to ease
a child's cry her rhythm the heart
I hold
inside me its blood
chants
thru her nodding head like a prayer that's lost
its words a wind
that moves
nothing
“memory” first appeared in the Wisconsin Review.