Tag: Memory
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The Archaeology of Self: Excavating the Self #poetry
Who am I? The question echoes in forgotten chambers, and we dig through layers of conditioning, through the fossil remains of abandoned dreams, searching not for an answer, but for the thread that binds us to everything that is.
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The Salt Between Us: My Most Memorable Vacation
I remember the morning we left, how you fumbled with the car keys while I counted sunscreen bottles like rosary beads in my palm. The highway stretched before us, a ribbon of possibility threading through mountains that wore clouds like crowns…
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無常の流れ Mujō no Nagare (Impermanence Flow)
Morning mist rises from concrete— the city breathes through steel lungs, exhales yesterday’s promises into today’s uncertainty. A businessman’s reflection fractures in puddles that mirror neon signs, each ripple erasing the face he wore at twenty, replacing it with lines drawn by decades of subway commutes and convenience store dinners. Because things are the way…
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The Eternal Outfit
If I were condemned to singular cloth, sentenced to the same weave day after day, until the threads memorized my skin and my skin learned the language of cotton—I would choose denim. Not the pristine, factory-fresh blue that screams newness from store shelves, but the kind that whispers stories, that carries the archaeology of ten…
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The Weight of Years: A Journey Through Time and Memory
In the corner of my kitchen counter, weathered and worn smooth by decades of devotion, sits my grandmother’s wooden spoon—carved from olive wood in a village whose name I can barely pronounce, but whose essence lives in the grain of this humble instrument. Forty-seven years it has stirred the same clockwise circles, outlasting kitchen renovations,…
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Nine Voices: A Connected Journey
In Nine Voices: A Connected Journey, poetic voices converge to explore the fluidity of identity, the beauty of listening, and the silent power of memory. From a baker’s quiet rituals to the dusty echoes of a forgotten trunk, this reflective cycle moves through grief, growth, and the sacred rhythm of becoming. Each piece is a…
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The Sink Still Drips (Grief Echoing Through Familiar Spaces)
“I still hear the clatter of forks, not from today, but from a Tuesday three Octobers ago when the soup boiled over and your laughter rose above the steam…” This poem lingers in the stillness of a kitchen that remembers—where every stir, every crack in the tile, and every whisper of cinnamon tells the story…
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What Mamaw Told the Creek
“Don’t cross no river mad,” she’d warn. “It remembers.” In the hush of Tucker’s Ridge, Mamaw held the past like a quilt in her lap—stitched with floods, love gone sideways, and the music of a creek that always knew more than it said.
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When Leaders Rewrite History for Applause
When applause becomes louder than facts, memory suffers in silence. This poem navigates a surreal landscape where history is rewritten by the powerful, and truth lingers in forgotten voices. It urges the reader to resist, remember, and reclaim narratives erased for convenience.
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Threadbare Truths: What’s the Oldest Thing I’m Wearing Today?
What if the oldest thing I’m wearing isn’t fabric or metal, but the mole on my neck, the laugh that cracked at sixteen, or the thread that remembers a forgotten promise? This is not just a poem—it’s a slow unraveling of what clings to the skin, and what refuses to fade. Dive into a tapestry…
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