I take my memories for the short
Term, like cut flowers to be
Enjoyed for three or four days,
While still fresh, while not
Too receded, and before they become
Brown at the edges, and the voices
Change, and the hair
Assumes the color of the hour,
And the building where
The memory took place is torn down.
I like my memories before
The story of their disappearance
Gets old, when you can
Still inhale them off your pillow.
Boomerangs in the Living Room
Red Hen Press
Copyright © 2013 by Rex Wilder
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission