38 St. John's Street
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About: "What you share with this world is what it keeps of you."
snapshot

my memories they leave me
they leave me all the time
you ask, don’t you remember
i say, of course
i say, i was there, wasn’t i, wasn’t i? wasn’t i-
my memories they leave me
they leave behind the wreckage
and the dust the fights and the shame 
i clutch photos of green grass
of palm trees of smiles and try
to find them inside of me
my memories they leave me
they leave me slow like honey
pouring soft out of my mind
every detail blurred, out of focus, just beyond reach
conversations on repeat on repeat on repea
my memories they leave me
they leave me and soon
i’ll have nothing
left

tone deaf

for all of my life, my dad was a functioning alcoholic
and i didn’t know until he sat us down
after An Incident with one of my aunts on a family vacation. 
he told us that he had a problem,
that he was working on it,
that he was sorry. 
for the first time, a lot of things made sense-
the sudden anger, the shouting,
the careful orchestra mom played every afternoon,
each of us an instrument that needed constant tuning, 
never quite playing the right notes, 
discordant clutter on every stair step
ringing in all of our ears when it was discovered. 
it was a symphony i had never heard until it was announced
and then it was the only music in the house, on repeat every day. 
places, places everyone, the show is about to start. 
these days the music is soft, quiet enough to play over,
and most days i make my own music,
but some days i am overcome with sound- 
the chorus we learned by heart, 
the beat burned into our baselines. 
i’m not sure who’s playing the music anymore, 
who’s conducting, who’s listening. 
I’m not sure it matters to anyone, but me.

curbside

light dances in through my window to say hello
and i am taken back to sundrenched summers
gourmet meals made in the neighbors’ stream side playhouse
moss topped mud pies and georgia clay cupcakes
served side by side over a bed of fresh green leaves
we were kings and queens of the culdesac
always up for the next game of roller hockey,
of chinese freeze tag, of touch football with older brothers
the long walk to the neighborhood pool, up and down endless hills
the ultimate oasis from the southern heat, comparing tans
and trading snacks between adult swim and lifeguard breaks
summer reading set aside for one more day, one more afternoon
toasting sunsets with fresh cut fruit and scraped knees 
passing out dinner dishes and the day’s triumphs at the kitchen table
our open windows let in the evening breeze, the cicada song 
as we said goodnight, goodnight, goodnight, sleep tight

arrival

not a slow descent into madness
but an uphill climb into the heart of another
finding meaning in unfamiliar muscle memory
trusting instincts like shadows
in every corner of a new room
the language of what is yet to come
we still have yet to learn
but this, hands tangled, we know
now

Copyright © 2009 by Candice Snyder
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