There is a way we remember,
and the way we want to remember.
There is the way grandmothers tie scarves
around their grandchild’s necks,
and there is holding the memento
in your hands wishing hers
could wrap it softly again.
We will die before the
things in our pockets will,
those live forever, in the
boxes in attics, on desks,
alone or with company.
Do not worry, they will
not feel bad when they get
dusty and cold,
they have each other.
And when you come back to them,
and feel their sweet touches again,
they will feel the same way
they always did.
But it is you that has shed your skin,
a new body in a lake of stasis
and old wooden splinters.
About the Author: Nick Soluri is a writer from New York. His words have appeared in Five:2:One Magazine, Boston Accent, Ghost City Review, Selcouth Station, Occulum, Anti-Heroin Chic Magazine, and others. He tweets @nerkcelery
Image Credit: Joseph Byerly “Portrait of a Woman” (1855) Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program.