June 12, 2016

Our Memories. {Poem}

Flickr/Moyan Brenn

We think our memory is a perfect recording of past occurrences—

But like a game of telephone, our memory takes on new details and omits others that seem less prominent. And in time, our recollection of the event is very different from what happened that day.

And that is all it is—a memory, not right, not wrong—it’s just our way of making sense of those events that happened in the past.


past the purple house 

at dusk

when the coffee cup stain dried

but the lyrics still rang in our head

rushing like the hum

of a mountain stream

chilling cans of gin

that lay in between the stones

we stepped across

to collect berries in the woods

that tasted like the mint

in pink confectionary rounds

or was it pink liquid to

soothe tummies filled

with too many fire roasted marshmallows?

those were summer nights

filled with chatter, laughs and stories

similar in time but unique in detail

and the forgotten rock

upon which he fell one of those

many nights when I was five

and we rode

to the state park

so long ago

and I am the only one

to recall the purple house 


Author: Jane CoCo Cowles

Image: Flickr/Moyan Brenn

Editors: Yoli Ramazzina; Caitlin Oriel

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Jane CoCo Cowles