Memories come fluttering back like ghosts,
long after they ought to have been forgotten.
They fall like dominoes, holding hands,
set off by the gentle slush of (mostly melted) ice in a big gulp cup.
The words of the argument have faded,
like argued words are wont to do.
All that's left is a face, shout-filled, anger-contorted,
and a cup (Sonic, extra-extra ice, watered down and barely fizzing)
hitting the wall beside me, sticky sweet in my hair.
The memory of whirling, a picked up chair,
and my body throwing itself against the door, into the sun,
before a picked up chair could join the cup in the category of Thrown Things.
Like dominoes, one memory follows another,
with a million in-between.
A night-filled, shout-filled car,
a cup (moderate ice, virgin straw) sitting in the middle.
A freshly parked car, a shouting boyfriend (anger-contorted),
a door, opened (at last) with the weight of my small body
throwing itself into the night.
The cup, thrown from the window, smashed against the street's asphalt.
The air (more night-filled, less shout-filled) carrying my body
to the warm light of the front door,
the rattle of a (used/abused) cup echoing on the street.
Two memories, with a million in-between, follow each other like dominoes,
long after they ought to have been forgotten.
Color, sensation, emotion, all blurred,
two different colored strings (light-colored, night-colored) tangled together.
Ghosts haunting me with the sound of (mostly melted) ice in a Big Gulp cup.