nostalgia

I have forgotten
the sound of silence
and the uneasiness it brings
we are friends now
and I no longer notice the quirks
which at first irritated me
and filled my ears
the stillness is not so bad
we carry on conversations in my head
to say them out loud would drive away
the silence
my friend
he fills now even my memories
which are now inadequate
he completes their empty spaces
with insulation
the brain is a poor architect
I don't want my friend the silence there
in that reeling movie theater in my head
it was made for sound
and I shall fill it with such
the memories are as pristine as I want them to be
but that does not make them genuine
they are flawed like concave mirrors
they distort the size, the shape, the color
oh to capture what is lost in moment
and treat it well
with no chains or whips
or endless interrogation
to keep perfectly the details
without vases or water or roots
or formaldehyde, that reeks of death,
and why should that body die?
perhaps the head that keeps the theater
is in apart a morgue
identifying, embalming and filing away
the past fancies, situations, and people
who chanced these lens eyes
and passed boldly through
to fade on the other side
because all things must fade
or it would be too painful to endure
the vivid pictures
of what can never be again
the silence says I should not miss it
I listen to him
he is my friend

©julie simonson 2009