Quiet Sunday.
Gray sky.
A bold decision to clean up the place;
get organized;
throw away everything
I no longer need.
A small, new start.
At the bottom of an overstuffed drawer,
I discover an old, faded shirt
with a loud but happy pattern
worn years ago for an entire summer,
given to me with an open heart
by a delicate, sun-kissed girl
who vanished from my life
one warm and windy September night
as completely as she had once filled it.
A surge of loss and loneliness.
I close my eyes,
hold the shirt to my face
and inhale,
hoping some memory
will still be trapped there,
intertwined with the fabric.
The dry, sage-filled breezes,
the mingled aroma of spices
from sleepy, oceanfront cafes,
jasmine incense and coconut suntan oil
wafting through the air along the boardwalk
blending with her perfume,
and the sweet, salt spray of the Pacific.
Just to taste that feeling one more time.
But the shirt smelled dusty and stale
like the drawer it had been buried in,
hidden away to aid in forgetting.
"What the hell?" I think,
"It's been long enough.
I'll wear it tonight."
Healing.
Time has done its magic again.
I throw the old shirt in a pile
with the rest of the laundry
and carry it to the machine.
I drop it in, set the dial,
scoop a cup of soap,
and drop it on the shirt.
A small, new start.
I shut the lid and . . .
Wait, the pockets!
I open the lid again,
rescue the shirt
and search them,
hoping to find some . . .
remembrance . . . of her.
But the pockets, too, are empty.
I drop the shirt back in
and reach for the button.
Again, I feel an impulse
to pull the shirt out,
shake off the powder and preserve it,
along with the memory of her.
If nothing changes,
maybe she'll come back
and we can relive that summer.
Maybe all these years can be reversed.
And maybe I can undo a few mistakes.
But I leave the shirt in the machine
and laugh at myself.
The heart is such a foolish thing.
I close the lid,
press the button
and let the water flow,
cleansing.
Author notes
Written September 14th, 2004
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Nostalgic.
I have a whole lot of clothing items that I wash and caress again and again that my son used to wear. Its one of many irrational things that I've tried to keep or preserve, to hold onto memories. This was like that experience of trying to catch a whiff of his cologne which has long since been lost. I purchase Aspen just to remind me of him....this was hard to read, but its very touching and so bittersweet, thanks for writing it. Memories can become alive again with just the sight or feel of a treasured garment.
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Another wonderfull master piece coming straight from your heart Mark..i think i know exactely what you talked about in this poem..i liked when you said time will heal everything..i am sure it will..
one thing i want say though,the memories always stay with us..no matter what..but it is just not good for those memories to get us stock and not be able to move on..i enjoyed reading this poem and i felt each word u said.. -
This is such an awesome piece. It hits kind of close to home. I’ve actually done something so similar to this. It’s funny how we want so badly to cling to our past, even when it is just painful memories that come to us. I loved the ending most of all. I think everyone needs a little cleansing from time to time.
~ John
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"The heart is such a foolish thing." Agrees Indeed it is. It's fascinating how well you captured this not so unfamiliar scene. I felt as if I was there, inhaling the shirt, searching for memories. I know what that is like all too well. Probably could envision this so well because it was like describing a scene in my life.
Good, solid descriptions - great poem. Thanks for entering.
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Slick write and very real!
Funniest thing, a couple of nights ago, did a stroll down memory lane myself. Couldn't help doing the detour down 'What If Lane' and a pop into the 'Kick Me Shop'. Other than that it made for a pleasant stroll. I really don't think that time changes anything though. The memories are frozen in time and will always be. We can rationalize or build a better framework of perspective around them, but the experiences themselves remain complete with emotions attached until they are finally forgotten. And I hazard to think that this is a good thing. Because if we could rationalize away the hurt, we would lose the corresponding exhilaration and that would be a terrible price for sanity.
Oh, by the way, before I forget to mention it, this is another very slick write. It is a beautiful vehicle to seduce the reader to play in traffic out onto memory lane. You did a nice job with the pacing, it is just slow enough to let the readers own memories seep in and quick enough in places to hold their attention from drifting away. And, of course, like most of your writes the flavor of you comes through. It has the very real feel I need to get before I can truly enjoy a poem.
I know I like to get useful feedback on my poems, as I suppose every serious writer does. There are few here qualified to give you advise, myself included, so there is really nothing I can add to help you improve the poem. Therefore my only comment is not so much a suggestion for improvement but a note towards economy of words and editing. The chapter titles were probably very useful to help you in writing the poem. They kept you right on target. But they are not necessary in the final draft as your message comes through clear as a bell without them. In any event I don't think the poem would be better without them, just that it would be just as good.
Peace,
~RJ~
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Oh Mark...this was such a stunning write. I was captivated from the first line...such a loving, yet bittersweet moment of memories. Or at least wanted memories.
The cleansing comes after the healing, but it is a long hard road.
I am in awe of your eloquent words...so perfectly put together...molded like clay...gorgeous.
Sam
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This is awesome. I went there and I felt longing. I am jealous of him for having had that experience.
Then to wash it all away...
I just couldn't
Katarine -
It is funny how we keep those things, unwashed...it seems like we try to preserve it as a kind of relique. Once we wash it, moments of the past are washed away too, and that is when we realised that we need to let it go.
I think it is the same with a 'bottle', better to open it and drink the wine instead of wait and wait..
Excellent poem Mark!
K&L,
Mari
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FREEDOM is a 2 edged sword
That cuts the binds
And moves us forward -
baggage of the past often merges with the present . . but in letting go, freedom is attained, allowing us to remember in a more holistic way
the sweetness of memory and the forever unatainable . . past
this worked well for me . .made my emotions of how i remember scents or sounds, how they trigger past warmths and loss
well done -
I have thrown away so many "memories" like that, Mark, only to wish I had saved them. They will remain in your mind and in your heart, if they are meant to remain at all. Otherwise...time to toss them out. I have been married 21 years now, and still have poems written for past loves, some even posted here. Some things, you can never let go.
Cheryl -
Hi Annastacia,
I guess you know exactly what I meant with this piece then. I hope your sweater gives you happy memories about the person who owned it.
Take care,
Mark -
dreamscape85,
Thanks for your comment and story about your water globe. It's good to meet another sentimental type! lol It's amazing how many memories an inanimate object can contain, isn't it?
Mark -
Wonderfully written. A great glimpse into the private, lost memories invoked by an old shirt. I love the way you took us back with your words, and then started over with a wash.
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I love your mellow style. And this poem is great, it made me smile to think of how many times I have done something similar, with items that had their own special memories. My broken water globe that held two tiny seahorses sits at home, now minus the seahorses and the protective globe. And yet I couldnt bear to throw it away. The feelings I get when I hold something that means so much to me is one of the most special, and to give them up would be a sacrifice I am unwiling to make. So, great work with the poem, I love it!
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Mmmmm a sentimental piece. I have an old sweatshirt that belong to someone who was very dear to me. I treasure it even though I only pull it out very once in a great while.
Anna
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