by Mary Therese

Created on: April 05, 2008

Potholes

I envy friends who speak so easily of childhood recollections.
Their pathways of memory clean, smooth highways.
Free of gaps, no cracks in their pavement.
Few bumps on which to stumble during 'walks down memory lane'.

As I traverse the road of personal memory,
the path is strewn with bumps,
speckled with gaping potholes,
fissures where childhood memories should be
crevices where even adult memories were blurred by fright.

I negotiate the cracks,
fractures caused by psychic tremors borne of horrific pain.
The mind my only outlet for anguish that could not be vented outward.
Every silent scream rent tears in my memory.

Alas, time travel impossible,
road repair unfeasible,
but love and healing lay a new foundation
and patch the potholes.

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