Set in Stone

We think things are set in stone, the years before us

Quiet and smooth,– at least, here in America, in the heartland.

We see the days ahead, one after another, long and comfortable in their sameness.

The guys at the coffee shop, the weekly grocery run,

The ching of the cash register at our place of business.

But then the tornado comes, or the flood, or the death

And things are never the same.




You have given me false memories, with
The touch of your body after all these years.
I remember things which never were.
The searing touch of our skin and the intertwining of our limbs
Makes me think we are closer than we really are…
Contact with you is
Dragging my heart into places that don’t exist.
Night after night, I think of ways to find you
In those forests of memories that don’t exist,
That belong to your other self.

jeanmichelle 4-7-13