Nor in memory held
It is dark and cold.
I sit on the heating vent in my kitchen floor,
thinking only of
the smoothness of the glass I hold,
the hum of the refrigerator...
mundane, I know,
cut to the chase.
You see, nothing major happened today,
I didn't have a friend die of AIDS,
or wreck my car.
But the feeling I have
is incomprehensible...
It's the feeling you get when your husbands
no longer your best friend,
or you realized that the girl you thought
was your sister in college wasn't ever going to call,
or write, or even remember you.
Nor in memory held,
you sit in the darkness and feel sorry for yourself,
happy for the warm air across belly and breasts,
for the dusky bitter taste of orange juice,
and the frost defracting into jewels on the window.
That is why I cry,
for beauty not...
Nor in memory held.
Cindy Lynn Speer
© 1995, C.L. Speer. This poem orinally appeared in Flipside Magazine, California University of PA.
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