Memoriam

What is our minds will die with us.

My mind---

a bittersweet recollection of

'50s-style diners, tattered books, black coffee,

my mother and I at Mac's (burgers, fries, and a diet coke)

and the long gazing poems

I wrote frantically in small notebooks

that were sometimes discovered, but

never understood,

the murderous pictures I drew on my

book covers that people said were

signs of instability and

bad, bad children,

my mother's morning songs that

made me burst into tears at the mention

of my name, and the very first kiss I had

that I was too nervous to execute properly

(I didn't know how to kiss like the French), and

the morning after we spent our

first night together...I remember the birds chirping sweetly like

Mozart's night music, I was

wrapped in your arms, you held me so close as though I were

too fragile to be left alone on the other side of the

bed, I would break without you,

the empty wine glasses with old stains on the bottoms,

those old black and white TV

shows that I watched at 3 AM

in the dawn's quiet light

peeking slyly through the darkness,

eating and drinking in the

moonlight,

that's all there is

in the memoriam of my

mind and I realize now that it

all means nothing and it never did mean anything (and it never will),

though I didn't know that

then.

They will all die with me

and will never be truly known to

anyone.

Reviews

[Deborah Leah Krempa]

Well written, Good poem. Thank you for sharing. Debileah