“I reconstitute a memory”
–Roland Barthes
By now neither hears
The other tell a story
Different than the one
They shared. The past shatters
In the moment. Memory’s
Scattered bits cohere
Only through proximity
And a desire to cohere.
The emotional scraps
Linger. He sanctifies
His past in phrases,
Images, intonations,
Until what she possibly
Meant when she did
What he remembers
Becomes a patchwork
In which he wraps himself
Against the oncoming cold.
(June 7, 2017)
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