Memory Elision

IMG_0128
 
I’ve contemplated death since the age of four. I remember the year of inception only because I spent the hours of my fearful occupation with mortality beneath a birch tree in the front yard of a house my family lived in but a year. We changed residences often back then. Nothing seemed permanent to me.

(Every relationship of mine has ended in abandonment. Perhaps they all do. In time–slow may be its passage–people allow you less of themselves, of touch, word and emotion. Deprivation unto detachment.

My father, on the other hand, just disappeared
one day, left no clue as to where he absconded.
I felt that loss unlike every other: I did not weep.
I’m certain he’s found happiness . . . )

(I know however that memory remains ever fallible. All the love, nurture, and affection; the pain, cruelty, and silence could be mere imagination, the creative ends of self-pity meshed into desire. So, when I reach that penultimate moment of my existence, will the accounting of all my travails then be truer? more real than experience itself
ever was?)

At that tender age I convinced myself that I’d one day invent a machine or a medicine that would extend my life forever. What now lacks clarity is the knowledge of whether I believed that it was me
            or the world
                        that would end up
dying.
 
 

2 Comments

  1. This is a wonderful writing Michael! Love the ending, seems the right way to sum and leave us with wonder. Take care! Val

    Like

Your thoughts are welcomed and appreciated.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s