Remembrance
I don’t remember
Walking to the center of the high bridge
I do remember
Thinking about the current’s clarion call
I don’t remember
Pondering the great mystery
I do remember
Searching for a way to elude capture when pain hunted me
I don’t remember
Sending up one more prayer, asking for help one last time
I do remember
Conjuring in image in my mind: a sacred place remaining hidden
I don’t remember
Calling up the number on my phone and asking to visit
I do remember
Telling myself I was going home to the bedroom with the seashell lamps.
I don’t remember
Walking in the door, two miles from the bridge
I do remember
The smell of brass coating my hands- knocker, key, lock, door knob, door knob
And I don’t even remember leaving,
But I do remember the part where I came home.
Thank you for reading this narrative about coming home.
My most recently published piece:
…BRD…
