Time and memory are fluid,
Running through us with marbled colors,
The psyche as malleable agateware.
The bayous and cypress trees of childhood
Exist vividly alongside now-beloved mountains draped in smoke.
The Shearwater cup that held tea,
Then favorite pan-fired gunpowder green,
From which I sipped early in the musky mornings before grade school,
Sits still on my mind’s shelf with successive handmade tea cups.
The paintings by my father and other local artists I see on the walls,
Together with current pieces of artwork.
The past is never that, though we can try to pretend
And even attempt to banish it from our being.
Better I’ve found, to accept this and embrace a multidimensional life,
Observing the interflow of old and new with detached curiosity.
Such mixture will inform all that we experience, however we decide.
I choose awareness. Let this bring what it will.
All things always in flux.