memento mori

maybe there is no such thing as

enough time to grieve the truly grievous loss

never a time that you will not stumble into the inevitable pocket of memory that you thought (you dreamed you had buried it)

stumbled into the for last time and would never have to do it again

and again the earth opens and you remember

driving

a winding road on the east coast in 1962

in summer

in the back of a vw bug in your pajamas

the scent of beach roses hovering in the night air. you

counting street lights

on the way home from the drive in

you should be sleeping but the material in the back of the vw is

too scratchy

and it is too much fun to be out this late any way

way way past bedtime

way past

in the past I would swallow this bitter pill,

the waking up to it,the knowing of

this memory of june, carried on the scent of a fragile rose

in the early summer on the beach

bitter bitter winters to follow

still unthinkable

what stops you in your tracks is that the memory is so clear and yet so distant

you can almost be there if you close your eyes and

if the world would just stop

just for a minute

and let you go back

just to be there in that time

when you knew what it was like to know that the world was going to be like this forever

and if you wanted something with your whole heart you could have it.

maybe it doesn’t matter if you are fifteen or fifty

if the earth opens up that way

you fall

and you are in that place at the same time as you are actually walking along

and it is always a surprise

because you had long since forgotten that you had ever been that way

that innocent

and there it is

almost reachable and always irretrievable

it was just a rose, just

a reminder

memento mori

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