I became hungry for memory: a deranged archaeologist losing my foothold on scree. Hours spent looking for a long discarded letter; an afternoon to piece together shards of conversation. Was it that time you asked? Did you know what I meant when I said? I have the overwhelming need to parse you, so I can know.
I drift into sleep deliberately recalling your cheekbone, a blade in the air as you turn to me; the flat planes of your fingernails. When you wound my hair into a knot around your fist and pulled me to you.
I want you assembled and classified; labelled and catalogued. I want you neat. But these are the aspirations of the full moon and the locked ward.
I manage an untidy drawer, a cupboard door that won’t quite shut, gaps on the shelves. Who could cross-reference this?
And so I have let go. I have stopped digging, the digging easier than the stopping. I have quieted myself.
Still, even so, memory opens like a cut.
Hi BH
What a wonderful piece again, like an archeologist digging for memories, your choice of words is such a joy to read!
Thank you, Ina, for your lovely comment. I’m so glad you enjoyed this.
Ah, this process I know intimately from the end of togetherness, going over and over and over every thread to try and make sense, to try hold still each memory. The impossible fight to let go that feels like it will never, ever be won, no matter what strategy one tries.
Perhaps all unfulfilled love is a sort of madness… it certainly is the only time I have felt distant from logic or sanity…
Beautifully crafted writing, as always, and such a delight to immerse myself in.
Hi, Laurel
Thank you so much for your comment and kind words about this piece. It always means a lot to me if someone else can connect with what I’m trying to express. You are so right about love and madness! Something many writers (more skilled than I) have explored; a universal human experience, I think.
Ah, that last line…
Thank you, Martin. I’m so pleased you liked that particular line.
It’s the whole poem in those last five words – amazing!
Ah, that’s so interesting to hear; I hadn’t previously thought of it quite like that. Many thanks again, Martin.
I think Martin is right about the whole poem being summed up in those last five words.
You really outdid yourself with this one.
You touched such intimate memories for me with this piece…when madness was the only sanity I wanted…or understood
Hi, Jo
Thanks very much for your comment, which is very poetic and moving in itself. I’m so glad you could relate to this short piece; that is a great compliment to me. Thank you.
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Thank you, Jo! How wonderful!
Well great writing NEEDS to be shared around !!!!!!
“I have the overwhelming need to parse you, so I can know.
I want you assembled and classified; labelled and catalogued. I want you neat. But these are the aspirations of the full moon and the locked ward.”
Two things come to mind: is this distant or recent past? And – if recent, then maybe you could follow the path of the moon til it’s new?
Hi, Val
Thanks so much for dropping by. Sometimes it seems recent and sometimes a long time ago. I absolutely love the idea of following the path of the moon til it’s new. Such a beautiful expression.
Memories of those with whom we connected powerfully will NOT lie quietly in a file folder in a locked cabinet, will they?
Thank you, granbee. No, much as we might want that to happen. You are so right.
I love the archaeologist metaphor. I find that it hurts being an “archaeologist” sometimes. But at other times I find it soothing. You are right that no matter how much we stop ourselves from digging and that when we actually do stop, the memory is still there.
Hi, JJ
Thanks so much for dropping by and for your comment which I very much appreciate. I’m so pleased the archaeologist metaphor meant something to you, too.
–Your writing is like poetry & prayers. X
Thank you, that’s such a wonderful thing to say. It means a lot to me and I very much value your thoughts.
Somewhere in my archives I have a poem which includes a line –
“digging about in the detritus…….”
I would go look for it but, like you, I have given up mining that particular lode so I shall refrain.
Terrific poem
David
Thanks very much, David. That’s a very evocative line, chiming well with what I’ve written here. Probably wise not to dig it out – appropriately enough! Many thanks for your kind words about this piece; I’m very glad you like it.
I am always so impressed by what you write. Very well done.
Thank you so much, Carroll. I very much appreciate your words and your support.
The convolution of whether to hold onto the pieces of loss or let them go is one of the most difficult things to live let alone write about. But here, and in other writings, you touch upon it specifically and yet also elusively; you let us in on such personal memories and yet keep us wondering. You ‘manage’ it like trying to straighten ‘an untidy drawer’ with an acceptance that it will become messy again. It is what the heart does and the intellect struggles with, and here again you take up that conflict with such a poignant lyric that sings to both and something deeply indefinable.
The novel I’m writing now is about loss (grief) that must be hidden and yet revealed, forgotten and yet unlayered, and I thank you for Stratigraphy and all the fine writing from your ‘pen’ that continues to inspire mine!
Hi, Diane
Thank you so much for your detailed comment. I am very much taken with your description, ‘what the heart does and what the intellect struggles with’; that is so exactly right. And it is, indeed, a conflict; one that is perhaps never entirely resolved.It just has to be accepted, I suppose, difficult as that is. Your words are very insightful and moving, as always, and I appreciate them very much. Thank you again.
Beautiful!
Hi, and thank you so much for reading this and for your lovely comment.
Hi BH
So sorry for the delay, flu got in the way! (A poem!! LOL
)
Once again you have written a wonderful piece so instantly recognisable in its emotions.
I am just constantly amazed at your ability to keep producing these pieces, one after the other, each one providing something new yet familiar. Wonderful
Christine x
Thank you, Christine
I’m so pleased to see you are feeling better. I can tell from your first line that you are back on form!
Your words are very encouraging. I’m so glad you liked this post.x
and we become archaeologists, excavating the truth, time is both the chisel that reveals and the earth that conceals the pulsating artifact, a sedimentary heart…
That’s an extraordinarily beautiful comment; I feel honoured that you wrote it here in response to my post. Thank you very much indeed.