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Memories, by Britta Benson

It rains so hard today, that I might have to teach my home to swim. I’ve been watching the rain fall on saturated ground for quite some time now and it sparked a poem. Inevitable. Really. Here goes.

Memories

Memories fall like rain.

Inevitable.

Get hit by a touch,

a smile, a word,

years old, still fresh,

soaking wet behind the ears.

Some drops tumble

soft and gentle,

nothing but a drizzle,

and the mist of time.

Others descend

in a thundering downpour,

ready to drown my soul

with the load of ancient sorrows,

swamp my heart

under a deluge of longing.

Others still attack my face full on,

with cold daggers,

the shards of grief,

or, worst of all,

the sleet of regret.

I could stay inside,

hide from all precipitation,

shrivel, weaken, wilt.

Or go for a walk,

soak up this rain of memories

and hope to grow.

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