Everyday Stories #24

Now I’m Creating My Own Memories

Sometimes memories are able to…

We were seven children each seven years old Our teeth gleamed in the moonlight Sharp and newborn and white able to chew the toughest candy

Our bikes were built with interstellar material All the roads were downhill and wide as electric guitars in the summer night And shivers down our spines made the cornfields sway

I would fall I would get up My father poured a red liquid on the wounds It burned and smelled of a stormy sea My mother sewed colorful patches on torn overalls The wounds The wounds were used to healing on their own I didn’t have to do anything Just play with the scabs

Sometimes memories Sometimes memories can heal wounds

We woke up in different places each time Wandering breakfasts Good sleep was our friend we didn’t have to look for it Instinct didn’t fool us We always knew which way the sun was rising

A dawn in Sicily The courtyard of a house Ivy White flowers Lemon trees Tablecloths on which invisible the wisdom of the centuries was transcribed Pistachio sweets The warmth of hospitality My sky blue heart

Sometimes memories Sometimes memories are as easy as breakfast

The roots sink into the ground What dies is nourishment Now is the powerful and secret time of the sown seed Now is the wonder

Now I’m creating my own memories