Tag Archive: memory


Tension and Tense

I am as young as this moment allows but no less.
Someday I’ll have been here again.

© Chagall ∞

 

A Wisp of a Kiss is a Kisp

As the beat goes it says
so much to do so instead
do nothing – lose myself
in any direction – when
I was a girl once combed
in elusive fashion – was
more than I’d ever do –
take myself in any direction
– laughter rings and never
fades, simply dies away though
fingertips touched so lightly.

© Chagall ∞

Überblick

Each sense has a cache of
residual reality
attention!
not memory at-work at all,
just dimming glows, we filter
the actual,
we choreograph the quintet,
low-capacity volatility,
mosaic,
iconic,
saccadic.

© Chagall ∞

You Would Have

To fulfill the destiny of the other
without consideration for ever having to fulfill one’s own
made for a far more spectacular life and so we chose it
without any regrets left unconsumed by actuality.

Sometimes it rained darkly in the seams of horizons stretched
like tired eyes across cityscapes, she blinks away drops.
A puddle is a place to dance – we pas de deux, slosh …
slow feet drag through heavy water.

Might I kiss you here? This place on this spot. See how words
convey no meaning at all! Lips, before the fountain, respectively.
Years from now the others will correctly say it’s Dijon
for look closely – see it, do you – the carousel?

© Chagall 2017

Stark Relief

Today while reading Figure and Ground, I highlight
passages that I do not want to remember.

© Chagall 2017

The Final Eve

The last silver streamer alights,
confetti and ticker tape abandon flight,
balloons fall from celebration
failing to be held aloft.

Remember when we were? Each awakening brought
a new day with new sun in which we bathed defiant,
we dared it to blind us, we countered with our own
heat, radiance, impulse to grow, and then to burn away.

Soft brooms whisk the memory; the clink of glasses raised
to toast is still there, not quite yet imperceptible.

© Chagall 2017

Fire Escapes Covered in Snow

Christmas Morning on the Lower East Side when I was five
I awoke to find a tiny white baby grand piano alongside
the tree that crowded the front room of our railroad apartment.
Not quite a toy, it was a real instrument crafted to stand
not two feet high. On the beautiful bench sat a card in script
that simply said Love Dad.

This year, for what would be his 100th Christmas, I will place
my hands on the keyboard again to wish him peace in silent night.

© Chagall 2016

Talkin’ About You Again

A word, a blank page no more;
this is where couplets end.

From hereon in
strange waters.

The next view must speak louder
than nothing – if not, why bother?

Pictures are an option
just not here.

Help me to pluck ideas
from all these implicit ellipses.

Chagall 2016

Ornithologic

I have memories
of being in echelon
which means that at one time
I must have flown

I can feel
where wings connected
between biceps and pectorals
the backward sweep of deltoids
to where flight would have taken hold
like a clamp

we hang low in the pocket in the rush of fresh air
hundreds of feet high in a V across calibrated
stagger as if random we bank in a frolic
as one gaining air on the others steep turns
tightly so much torque but our bodies are made
for bending flexing near breaking

Our hearts are different
not so resilient, they snap
because they’re unforgiving

Chagall 2016

Ever Expanding Universe

I remember now as a child
the sense of falling

Not down on my knees
but plummeting

Earth was falling, hurtling through space
and I was attached to the Earth

My Mother held me tight
while the wind tunneled about us
though stars receded, secure I grew
to ignore the fall

I remember now as a child
that sense of falling

Chagall 2016

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