iMors

Mnemosyne There are not many things in life that have linked me to this world. I fell out of my mother like a pound of potatoes; love, a burlap bag. I crawled through childhood, hid behind skirts on a mannequin, hid behind door jambs, in dark closets. I have known so few, but those whom I do are buoys balanced in the throes of surf and sink; starts and drops into deep, deep swells that have carried me along to desert sand. I have enough water to walk across desperate time in need of nothing more than Mnemosyne.