“So we beat on, boats against the current,
borne back ceaselessly into the past.”
—F. Scott Fitzgerald (The Great Gatsby)
No matter how much we try to move
on, no matter how much we try to stay in the moment, no matter
how much we live for today,
the past still speaks to us;
it gnaws at our conscious
and our subconscious,
it goads and cajoles
and signals
with red flags
and luminous lanterns.
It insists we be reborn
to that which went
before, presenting
itself like an Irish
Mother whose womb
is not constrained by
time’s absoluteness,
but remains pliant
and capacious and
and fertile enough to
dismiss reality in lieu
of birthing memories
for memories’ sake.
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