Memories

--by Sophia Baradarian

The unapologetic snap
sizzle of
sun-bleached photos
seared in the candle’s flame.
You turn them over
flip, swish,
switch, repeat,
deciding which to keep.
Until you know every touch and corner.
Until you’ve palmed sepia cheeks
and auburn curls.
Until the names and places
where you’d held them meld,
melt on your tongue,
tumble and fuse
with the age-old blues
which take bitty
bites of the sounds and
sights they’ve
savagely left behind to
swallow you entire.
There you sit,
bottle of bitter wine in hand
and rummaging through,
if only to
down the remaining dregs
of a fading
dimpled smile.
Or to pluck what's
left of the dying
times when tinny
tines forked plump
cubes of watermelon
into mooching
little mouths
by the pool.
You’ve given up,
a creature hunted,
haunted by a past
which has yet to pass.
Not knowing whether to
caress or
crumple the tattered square
displaying three
picturesque children
hugging the skirts
of a long lost wife.
A long lost life.
Burn it or
turn it
between worn
fingers, still you’ll
find its eager
edge will slice
through any callus.