ELEGY TO THE PAST

 

The wind sweeps up the

remnants left by the rain,

a river divides the hills but

only half the valley knows

I asked the stars where they
keep their secrets, and
they led me to the darker parts

of the sky, the ones without names,

the ones only the past remembers.

Some say the soul becomes lighter

when you leave the past behind,

but every night
I hear it tapping on my door,
whispering softly like a prayer

I learned as a child.
There are other things I never

learned, but I’ve always known.

Sometimes, you see the end of

something before it even begins,

the way a name can float in your

mouth without finding form.

There are days you wake

without finding the ground.

I woke this morning trying

to remember forgotten things.

I saw my face reflected

in the mirror and saw there are

parts of me disappearing.

You can’t bury something

without losing part of yourself.

From The Inflectionist Review