Carrying A Memory

 

At 43, I carry the feeling of a small hand pressed against mine 17 years ago. I take this in the place of a secret, of a yearning, of an addiction, of a lie. Buried under the bowels of the heavy earth, the image will appear in my head, like a faithful ghost aged by the many years.         In this memory there is a sun that is still pouring its bright colors over the scenery. The streets are loud and active yet I am so absorbed in the feeling of a little hand grasping mine. I gaze down at the child to find a misalignment in the collar of his shirt and release those precious animate fingers to adjust it. Hurriedly, his hand jumps back into mine afraid of getting lost in the crowd of other hands on that busy day, on that busy streets. He is content again as he feels the tender stroke of his mother. I nurture and stroke the little hand as the wind quietly presses itself through. It is small, with wild fingers and skin of velvet. I hold it and the fingers so eagerly wish to grow beneath mine.         We walk a great distance, away from the noise of the honking cars and the heavy odors in restaurant corners, away from the crowds and the street vendors.         "Where are we going," the child asks repeatedly, puzzled by the nature of our unexpected walk.         "To a place with all the things you could ever want," I reply again and again in the same promisingly tone.         "Are we going… to… oh, I know the toy store,” he suggests using his wishful thinking.         "Be patient for a while," was my all I could say.          I hold his small hand as it grows heavier and heavier. His legs begin to tremble, but we walk and walk, hand in hand, until the day becomes dark, until the streets become unfamiliar.         I remember how I grab tighter so as to remember that touch for the years to come. I turn to face him, "Hey?" He responds quickly without the energy to look up, "Can we stop, can we take a break?" "Yes, but I think I dropped something important a few blocks back, wait for me here, okay?" I whisper encouragingly.         Without looking back I hold his hand a bit tighter, then let go. Walking swiftly, I count the steps that it takes before I am no longer a mother but a woman with a memory that will become 17 years old. I walk and walk, turning the corner leaving the child behind. Alone, with large watery eyes, the little boy watches as I disappear behind a building. At 43, I carry the feeling of a small hand pressed against mine 17 years ago. I take this in the place of a secret, of a yearning, of an addiction, of a lie. Buried under the bowels of the heavy earth, the image will appear in my head, like a faithful ghost aged by the many years.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     

Reviews

[Jonathan Bryant Dean]

This is a sad story of remembrance. I like what you have described, and the plot is atrong. There are some small editing issues. I noted a few run-on sentences, but I do not feel the need to point those out.

I will bring your attention to a few phrases that I thought were incomplete:

It be content again as it feels the tender stroke of its mother. Now we will walk a distance this hand and I. "Where," the child asks very puzzled by the journey. -- Should there be another word between "It" and "be"? Maybe it would read better as, "It will be." And there should be a question mark after "Where."

Inside of this memory there is child's hand, there is my hand, and then there is a boy and his mother. -- There should be another word in the underlined phrase. Maybe "a" or "the."

This is not a slam by any means, just what I hope you will see as a helping hand.

JBD

[Florian]

Wow! I loved this piece. The whole tiny story is very well written with a tremedously great plot, and it leaves a little blot of sadness in your heart.

[J. Hampton]

A respectable and poignat piece .
Love a twist. Although the concept is common you made it fabulous . The dialog makes it , driving us to read on. Some of its' form seems drawn out to far technically then sharp up ....just as it would go. So it works.
the ending is perfect.
Deep and effective writing !!!

Blesssssssssssssss

[Atrus De Vane]

The reader is fooled with this piece... in a really terrific way. When the story first begins, it leads one to believe that this is going to be another piece about a parent who's lost a child and in some corny twist at the end, the fact that he's been dead all along is going to be presented to the reader as though they would have never seen it coming in a million years. But that is not what this is about.

The child is dead. This is made apparent in the first paragraph. The point of a whole story is never summed up in the first paragraph. This story is not about death. It's about letting go. Once this shift takes place in the story, it transforms from a trite storyline worthy of some high school freshman English student to an intriguing and intricate organism that has just captivated the reader without him even realizing it.

This technique lies at the coeur et �me of quality writing. Taking something expected and turning it into an extraordinary piece of art. Fantastic.

-Atrus

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Very intriguing story... letting go of yesterday so you can move on into the future... the story could use some fine tuning but otherwise a really nice piece.

[.]

Great Job!! Yes, powerful wording here, some run-on sentences tho, yes, but, still a great piece- kind of like a "sad, and haunting nastalgia" sort of write, I think :)

Mikey

[Ivory]

Very solid and creative write.
I do agree, there are a few repeat words, but besides that
it is still a great write, I enjoyed it : )

[Writeone]

Wonderful word pictues. Nice alterations going on here. Strong words. IMHO, you do have some repeat words (walk and walk) to give strength to your poem, try to say repeat words a different way bare instead of bear, week /weak. I have seen some amazing poems done this way. This is a well done poem, make some of those changes and it will be Great.
keep writing
bob

[Charlotte Marie]

I love memory based poems! They are so passionate! Great job! Thanks for sharing! Charley

[Alistair Canlin]

Wow! This was such a moving story. The images you created were so strong that I could picture everything in my head. The analagy of the hand was excellent and the power of the image was something.
Sorry, but I can't find anything to critisize.

[[untitled]]

All I can say is this left me speechless! No criticisms. Publish this!