day eleven | Memories pt. 1

The Ebeneezer stone in 1 Samuel 7:12 was a sign of how far the people had come. It was a symbol of the journey they had taken so far; a signpost between where they had come from, and where they were going.

What do I do with my memories?
Do I wrap them up in cotton wool,
place them in a box,
inside a box
inside a box
inside some bubble wrap?
Store them in the corner of a basement somewhere
Hoping that they will never die.
Keeping them alive
Keeping them hidden
Keeping them safe

What do I do with my memories? Do I
put them on the shelf covered in
shit from different people and places
that has blurred into a
pile of life.
So that no one really knows what any of them are,
just that they’re mine.
Just that they’re my memories.

What do I do with my memories? Do I
cycle them round on my coffee table,
unwrapping them every month, and wrapping them,
unfurling little segments of my heart
putting them on display till the meaning leaves them
as the sun bleaches their coloring
and they become
just an ornament. What do I do with my memories?

Do I give them away?

Do I pack them up, loosely,
so that they shake with fear as I walk them into the op shop
and say goodbye and pretend that I don’t care
that this is all that I have right now.
That these things, this junk,
each one of them is a moment

A breath

A laugh

A tear

Each one of them lives and breathes outside of me,
as a part of me.
Each one of them is part of me.
What do I do with my memories?
Do I carry them round with me
in a suitcase all together?
A pile of chaos
that no one should ever see.

I don’t know what to do with my memories.
For now, they’ll stay in a messy box
with a loose bottom
that I’m not sure what to do with.


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