Wednesday, February 15, 2006
memory...recycled post
I wonder if my rope's still hanging from the tree
By the standing pool where you drank me
And filled me full of thirsty love
And the memory of water?
I remember the feeling of the sun, on my face, and the wind in the cotton wood tree, alone. That's what I remember the most, being alone. We had land, and everyone else was older. Much older.
The ancient rock under my feet, lost in my thoughts, in my daydream life. I remember running through the dry, dusty land that we had, from gully to gully, Buster panting at my side, my light brown bowl cut hair sweeping my face.
I wonder if a king still fishes there
His back towards the burned-out air
His laughing catches singing loud
The memory of water
The stock tank was the color of dark chocolate. It was a soup of mucky, thick, water. I remember standing on the man made dike and looking down at the water, imagining monsters, and seeing snakes. I remember the time my grandfather and I tried to catch a jar full of minnows in that tank, and all we got was a jar full of Cottonmouth Water Moccasin, its angry eyes looking out from behind the cursive text of the mason jar with indignity.
I remember the sword battles I had there, beside that inland sea. I was a king, alone, fighting against invisible foes.
Your taste is blood and ecstasy
But I must drink you all alone
You're freckled like a speckled egg
A dove, but this bird has flown
O stay with me sweet memory
O stay with me
So many things that only I remember. The long, silent drives between our home and the city, alone, in the back seat. The long summer days by the creek breaking open cattails and watching the cotton float away on the breeze, alone. Finding animal skulls on our land, and imagining the monsters and devils that lurked just beyond my own vision. I was alone a lot, but it was the good kind of alone, the kind that kindles the imagination like dry leaves in a fire.
I wonder if my rope's still hanging from the tree
By the standing pool where you drank me
As pain flows through me like champagne
Of the memory of water
A long time has passed, it seems, since I wandered here, in my memory, in the landscape of my childhood. I wonder what my children will remember of their childhood surroundings. City streets, small backyards, sidewalks. All the things that are mostly absent from my own childhood memories.
lyrics: Marillion - This Strange Engine - Memory of Water
