Bones of Memory

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In the beginning—time still untarnished

by tongues of friends telling tales

of unrequited passion and by knowledge

yet to be understood—pockets and purses

held the roots of recollection:

tickets torn to their stubs, clovers plucked

for their leaves of luck, valentines pasted

with tinseled love, prized dance cards,

dutifully, if not lovingly, signed by Curt,

by Joe and Jay, also by John,

catch of the class, and by Richard,

who wasn’t, but with whom I danced.

Frayed now, and fragmented, frosted

by the season of winter, still these scraps

survive, bones of yesterday.

Adding to them, I haul out my notebook,

my pad of yellow stickies, indelible marker,

preserving names of people just met,

conversations heard, things I must do,

before I forget.

* * *

Poem and photo by Mary O’Connor © 2014

 

 


8 thoughts on “Bones of Memory

  1. Today’s post made me laugh, Mary! I have been dutifully dusting off old bones in the name of purging junk, but find the memories suck me in & little progress is made!

    1. So good to hear from you! Thanks, for this and for so many others that I see you have “liked”! Have a wonderful time in Spain…a place I haven’t been to, but would love to visit someday!

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