Bruised and blistered hands
from digging up memories.
Someday, child, you will understand.
When your joints ache,and your skin is creased,
you will understand.
Your hands will sting against the shovel
raw from blisters you didn’t take the time to bandage.
Time is to precious to waste here.
No one wants to greet death
without these memories by their side.
Every bruise it worth it, dear.
Never forget to remember.
For when everything has slipped away,
youth is gone,
the places and people you knew,
vanished.
All you have are memories.
So dig them up.
Brush away the dirt,
turn them over in your hands.
It will all come back.