I am currently enjoying my last semester of college, and loving every helter-skelter minute of it. While listening to some poetry by Emily Dickinson in one of my morning classes, I was struck by the idea for this poem about memory.
Writers are, I think, in many ways slaves to their memories. I have had a "memory hoarding" issue since I was quite young, and found solace in writing things down. When your memory is very good like mine, it's easy to go back in time and even want to stay there longer than you should.
However, a good memory when used properly is a wonderful tool that lets you stand outside of time and space to help others see what they have forgotten about the world, or even themselves. This poem is both a sadness and a celebration of the gift of memory.
Time does not go on for me
Forever I am crossed at sea.
Forever tossed
On still-same wave--
Forever here to start again.
I look into that face of yours,
And all I see are open doors,
Open doors within your eyes
Forever walking into mine.
Time makes strangers
Of loves and dangers.
But not of me,
It cannot be.
Forever in my wintered mind,
These thoughts preserved for all of time.
I look around myself and say
"I can recall like yesterday..."
Yet no one else remains here thus--
My memory stays, theirs fades to dust.
So all their ships go sailing by,
But on my boat, there is no time.
Photo credit via - https://cverwaal.wordpress.com/2017/03/18/on-frozen-pond/
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