Photographic Memory

we took no photo
to commemorate the moment
when we stood, the city
at our feet -
or when the sun rose
after a night of
walking.

instead, like
copperplate engravings
we etched the moment
mystically into
the folds and sinews
of the synapses,
firing away in
perfect synchronization.

paper may decay -
and perhaps our
brains one day
as well, but somehow,
that moment seems
more than preserved
in the echoing
silences between
the spaces that hold
us together, and tell
us who we are.

© Eleanor Clark
5 July 2015

across the continents

there is a me that
runs through childhood
fields of memory
spanning continents
wrapped up in
waving swirls of
drying grass, baking
in the summer sun.

there is a me that
walks along the
rain-drenched streets
of a city old with
time and oddly cornered
curbs and benches
dotted with graffiti in
a language unexpectedly
become my own.

there is a me that
sits on the dock to
hear the gently lapping
slaps of waves against
the hulls of boats lined
up like a flock of
cranes roosting for the
night on concrete poles -
branches reaching
to the winter sky.

there is a me that
wanders under the
white embrace of
cherry-blossom petals
falling pale, pink,
spring snow onto the
hair and shoulders of
young couples strolling,
whispering secrets while
the old look on -
their dreams hidden
like mine.

© eleanor clark
16 June, 2015

Plastic Hope

Tonight I remembered
the life-like newborn
doll I played with
years ago, now
wrapped up in
swaddling tissue
paper in a cardboard
box lined with memory.
She wore clothes
that matched the
outfit my baby
brother wore - a
hand me down so
I could copy Mom,
folding nappies and
cradling this plastic
infant. Tonight I
wept at childish
dreams that ache
and burn in the
corners of the soul.
The children of the
barren wife might
be more numerous
for their future-promised
sons and daughters
still to bear, but --
for tonight the dreams
and hopes are as
lifeless as that doll.

© Eleanor Clark
21 May, 2015

Regret

Would now be
different if that
night I had told
you how I felt?
I felt so afraid
to lose what now
seems lost already.
Fear, it's what
made me lie to you.
I told you
I didn't love you -
that I just wanted
to be friends.
I think you knew
it was a lie, perhaps
but you were
relieved, I think.
And so we went
our ways, slowly
drifting away.
And now my
regret lies
in how I
betrayed myself
that night.

© Eleanor Clark
25 August, 2015

While this is a standalone poem, it was written to be preceded by Tonight.