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Recalling Our Selves

We are held together by memory,

each of us raveled tightly

round recollection

as if it were a certainty,

each telling our heart that

this past is the one.

We are great storytellers,

and rapt listeners.

But we are prisoners, too.

The histories we tell ourselves

about who we are

and why we are:

these are wax and twine.

We are stuck and bound.


Scared of the courage

it takes to set the past aside.

Fearful of a letting go

that might unwind us from ourselves.

But we are more than memory.

More than we recall.

Our long-told Then

is just an echo of the Now

and a shadow of the Soon,

It is neither who we are,

nor who we may be.

It is merely who we said we were.

And if we undo the twine

and melt the wax,

we will find ourselves anew,

clean-woven from fresh yesterdays.

Then we can bind up old wounds

with the cloth of new remembering,

and break bread with those selves

we could not recall before:

the dusty splinters of our soul

that were neglected

and long held apart by memory.


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