Like memories, by Britta Benson

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I wrote this poem yesterday, during an expressive writing workshop. Not sure if it’s finished yet. I like it the way it is, but might play around with it in a wee while.

Like memories

Like memories, always,

flexible, stretchy, sketchy,

the plasticity of my neurons at play.

Stories told, a little different every time.

Nothing’s fixed forever,

not even the sky.

All open for debate, new perspectives,

an edit, a rewrite.

It’s just a point of view, let it go.

Life flows.

I keep my palms open,

feel the wet, the cold, the power,

straight from the source.

Don’t clutch, don’t ask, accept.

I let water be, watch it pass,

let myself be, for now, forever.

I am part of this story,

insignificant, and yet,

like all memories, always,

flexible, stretchy, sketchy,

the plasticity of my neurons at play.

Life flows, not for me,

but because that’s what it does.

It’s all it does, all it has to do.

Somehow, I appreciate this gesture.

2 thoughts on “Like memories, by Britta Benson

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