April 10: The Memory Pot

"Memory is not a keeping

but a forgiving, the thresh and burn

of what we cannot salvage" - Leah Silvieus 

Today, working and reworking

moments as if on a potters wheel -

changing my mind and putting both hands

forward, gently lifting this massive mound of clay,

the whirring wheel, the squelch of splatter

earthy on my arms, smelling like rain.

I cannot wash the remnants off,

they dry on my skin

and crack.

Perhaps this is memory -

everything I could not fashion

into a piece of art. Perhaps this is me,

how I hold memory, paint over peeling

clay, painful to the touch, and call it

beautiful;

perhaps the memory of tonight
can only ever be of remnants: your scent,
the tender smiles, the mahogany moon -
everything about your arms that I could not
salvage
while I was there, holding on too tight.
Perhaps I will save the scars as well as the
shadows of stars, pack them into brown letters,
and write left-over words in black pen.
"Once", I will write. "If only".