did i lose it already ?
this fragile notion
piercing the fog
that hovers my ocean ?

i must place it
somewhere safe
so i may remember
the fragment
if not the face

perhaps this snippet
of waste?
     no, there is
not left a whit of space

Here is the vessel,
a white bleached and
prepared remnant
of an elm or a spruce        
that once
stood
         Tall
and shaded the sun
from exhausted lost
explorers—

cut stripped and
diced
to provide
               for Me
this small
space,

so i may forget...

"memory paper"
© 2020 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved

isn't it strange,
how we are each made
from little scrap pieces
of lovers left behind.
one lovers
favourite coffee order
is still my most reached for,
anothers user name
became endless passwords
and your t-shirt
became all i could sleep in.
i guess those we loved
never really leave us,
and so i wonder
which part of me
you took with you
when you left.

One shoelace

a few bolts

ticket stubs

a half of a picture

souvenir key chain from Florida

fragments

of him

tiny ghosts

tucked in the corners

so I always find him

never quite

let him go

always reappearing

clinging on to my skin

leaving the residue of his name