I Like Rainbows, Too

The memories, in time, turn two-dimensional,
Like photographs. If they can be recalled at all,
Their circumstances, how they felt, and what
Was heard, and how things smelled, have
Vanished. All there are are images of things
Which used to matter, daily treks down to
The pool, and camping trips, and epic hikes
In rain, and crushes on those pretty high-school
Girls, who've lost their names, and, later, loves,
Which turned out badly, jobs which might have
Been careers, if I had been the guy I used
To dream I'd be in junior high (the sports-car
Driving architect). I can't remember
How it was to be a buck-toothed kid who
Didn't do too well in Little League. I don't
Remember how it was to smoke cigars
Inside a tent in my best friend's backyard,
Or how it felt to drive for hours, high
As hell, across the wheat fields on the
Eastern side of Washington, or what
I thought when I reached Sasha's walk-up
And knocked on her door, and watched her
Usher me inside to sleep with her, to stay
For weeks with her when no one else
Had any idea where I might have gone.
I have these washed-out photographs.
I cannot feel what I felt then. I don't
Feel much of anything. I look at all
These albums, and I look outside at
What is present now, and sense that
I am dead before I've died, a figure who
May be in someone else's box of photographs,
In two dimensions, never three,
A desiccated thought.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 93 times
Written on 2017-05-16 at 01:24

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