Our time here is about to be


And yet we believe

Ours are indelible marks

In the registers of the universe

What would you bring with you

If you could

A scent of pancakes, butter and syrup


Flowering trees

From the woods behind the house

The memory of the mouse

That made your son jump

And run from the kitchen

Would you remember the power of itching

The power of feeling horny

In eighth grade

Would you remember the school bus

Your bed unmade

That one terrible grade

From the teacher with the weird skin

Would you remember the way you were taught

The concept of sin

And then had to unlearn

The idea that you would burn forever

In some dim place

So far from God’s face

That you would not remember

Your own grace

Or would you remember

Laughing so hard

Once in Jamaica

In a pool

That you felt yourself unspool

Into the absurd

Self-perpetuating ‘yes’

That comes in the middle, sometimes

Of a mess

Like your brother’s spastic sneeze

At a funeral

Which made the whole family burst

Into the wrong emotion

As if cursed by mirth

Will you remember Colin Firth

Playing Darcy

Or will you remember the book

Will you remember how once

Your husband gave you that look

And made you think

Ah, that man is about to make me

Feel that Jane-Austen feeling

Will you remember the angels

On the ceiling

Of that place in Paris

You stepped into

Out of the cold rain

To drink champagne

And eat escargots

It’s hard to know

Which thoughts, feelings, dreams

And random happenings

Will make the trip

Maybe none of it

Will slip past the veil

Maybe we have to leave it all behind

An epic fail

To keep the entire contents

Of the seemingly so important mind

All of it

Wiped clean

Or maybe even the feeling

Of a whole new machine

Nothing to keep

Or port over

Just the expanse of the ‘I Am’

With none of the ‘I Was’

All of the ‘to be’

And none of the ‘because’

Because we really don’t know

How it will go

How it will stop

How it will end

Or continue

It’s a lottery

That gets to win you back from yourself

A golden ticket

You just stick it in your pocket

Until you rocket out of your body

Slow or fast

Into something that has no past

No memory

No pain

And if you’re asking

When do I get to do it again

Who could be that clever

Live now

Or live never

Before you cease

And start to un-live


© 2022 Julie Flanders

April is Poetry Month Day 28


About octoberprojectmusic

Julie Flanders Marina Belica Emil Adler
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