Like you, I think, I’m always trying to rediscover,
recover my father, my mother, to know, to understand
their stories by telling them, and retelling them,
always a bit different, struggling to recount a memory exactly,
those memories never being exact, but feeling always
around the edges, a murky gray area, an emulsion,
some gritty suspension, poking at it, a palpable seeming touch here,
a pointed little prick there, those sharp ones, where I
meditate on the blood, suck the saltiness from my finger,
close my eyes and recall each time with new found evidence,
the momentary factual fiction.
If only they’d talked more about,
recorded their versions of what,
because without, I can best only guess at.
* * * * *
Today’s word is
struggling
Use it in a piece of writing and post that piece as a comment below. I would love to read what you write : )
