I have never showered
in grief –
I guess that’s one of my favorite problems.
I can’t vow that my hands are good for anything.
My fingers are usually too numb
to hold a pen for long,
& yet,
I try to craft poetry and art out of thin air.
I took a train west, thinking running
might solve my problems.
I flew out east.
I never know if I’m running toward or from,
I guess that’s one of my favorite problems, too.
I’ll try to settle down for a while.
I never thought I’d be stable,
but sometimes, I wake up forgetting the past.
Sometimes, I wake up forgetting you.
Infinity paralyzes people sometimes;
the prospect of forever can intimidate.
I just want to remember who I was
before all the casualties of running.
I’ll try to settle down for a while.
I never thought I’d be stable,
but sometimes,
I wake up forgetting the past.
Sometimes, i wake up forgetting you.
I never know if i’m running toward or
from,
I guess that’s one of my favorite problems, too.
I try to craft poetry and art out of thin air.
I guess that’s one of my favorite problems.
Can you distort what I’ve forgotten,
take this blurry snapshot,
and turn it into something real?
Can you distort this blurry snapshot
and make it your favorite problem?
Isabelle Palerma 
Love this one! You’ve still got it, my friend. ________________________________
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Thank you so much, Jami!!
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“What happens to a dream deferred?” I envision this line as the bass. Do we not dream and pursue our dreams every day? This line anchors even if written by another. (Harlem, L.H.).
Then yours is the guitar that joins at the front distinct:
“Can you distort what I’ve forgotten,take this blurry snapshot,and turn it into something real?”
Yes- it can be done, but it will hurt yet how delightful may may that be?
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A dream deferred. I’ve often contemplated this phenomenon. What happens to the dream deferred? Where does it go? Now, I’m just in my own head, thinking on it. How can I take the photograph and make it real? How can I alter a memory and make it less of a watercolor painting and more true?
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I took a class on the psychology of illusion and it is incredible what we can curate to fit our desired experience. Yet, that may not be reality. I hunger for what is real. I want my memories to be as true to form as they were on that day. I fall too quickly to folly I need that firm foundation to not trip.
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“Can you distort what I’ve forgotten,take this blurry snapshot,and turn it into something real?”
I feel this. Who knows, right? Ive started noticing lapses in memories. Yesterday, I wrote the word “patience” and it looked foreign to me. How do I know if I had that information but lost it? Would I even know.
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Lapses in memory are definitely real. They are so frightening at times, but they are so very real.
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“Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you/Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here”, David Wagoner
Poetess…will your beautiful poems from your blog find a home here?
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If I can find the courage, I will share them here.
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This admirer’s voice and pleas then cease in deference to your wishes.
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“The quiet sense of something lost.”
Is found in the echo of your words.
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