Seeing the people from our pasts reminds us
We are no longer the sprightly young things of yesteryear.
They remind us that our bodies are not fresh and perfect
But broken and repaired.
They remind us that our souls are not new and untouched
But used and worn.
They make us feel heavy,
And we unconsciously bend under the weight of memories.
We want to turn away
And plunge back into the sea of forgetfulness,
But our uncooperative eyes remain fixed on their targets,
While our minds wallow in guilty remembrance.
Even as embarrassment tinges our cheeks pink,
We cannot hide them.
No, we are, instead, frozen wax figures,
Soft statues suddenly confronted with thermometers,
Tangible evidence of the heat slowly melting us away.
Copyright © 2002 Colleen Fischer | Last updated October 7,