Memories adrift on a dark sea,
They invade my conscious mind,
Like snapshots, vignettes of a time, of a life, a past life,
Neither particularly wanted nor needed
But there all the same - And, like the tips of icebergs,
More below the surface than above.
They have a peculiar ability
To extract laughs and tears, and , pain;
Yes, the pain is there too,
It's always there – You know -
Waiting like some crouching beast.
Harmless memories:
Cleaning a desk at the end of 1st grade
With lemons brought from home.
Watching as the ink from a thousand missspellled words - is pulled,
Pulled from the fabric of the wood.
Almost Funny memories:
Of singing a tisket a tasket,
In a dreary school basement, on a rainy afternoon.
Of walking into a wall and the blinding light of pain:
And, as I lay dazed on the floor, the Nun hovering above,
Like some vast Gothic specter in black and white.
Most Everyday memories:
Walking to and from our little Catholic school,
Day in, Day out, regardless of the weather,
We walked: down the hill and up the hill,
Carrying books and lunch - And contraband.
There was always contraband.
Painful Memories:
Of a visit from our father on one of those rare occasions.
Of being told to hug him – And wondering, Why?
Of his smacking my brother - for saying - a word,
That sounded like a curse - but wasn't a curse –
Which he would have known, had he been there
More than rarely.
Exciting Memories:
Of moving to a new neighborhood.
To be on our own – away from him.
Just me and John,
And Carol and Mom
Friends to make, alley's to explore.
A new school, A new life, A new beginning.
Elusive Memories:
As, if you were to ask me,
What was it like, As a kid, back there, in that dim, dim past.
I would stare blankly – I wouldn't know what to say.
The memories fail when they are bidden.
They seem to have a life and a will of their own.
They cannot be coerced. They cannot be forced.
They come as they will, and All I am permitted to do,
Is record their passing.
Bill Schatzabel - June 14, 2009
