Memory is a wisp of a thing
She swirls up like smoke and dances away with a giggle
Like a child playing hide and seek.
And when she chooses, she will alight upon you
But only as a whisper, or a thought like a ribbon
Entwined in a song
Or a scent
Or the sound of a stranger's laugh.
'Come and find me' she says
With her basket full of breadcrumbs
Each piece a tiny portion of a story you can't quite grasp;
Details awash with feeling
Truths turned to dreams
Hazy joy and pin points of sorrow.
Never as clear as the moment itself
But still enough to quicken a breath, or swell a heart
Still enough to pass on to another
And if you are lucky, your recollections become one
Puzzle pieces found, hollows becoming whole.
But it's never enough to capture her completely
That wisp of a thing
With history in her hands, truths in her pockets
And a vanishing in her step.