By: Elliot Pope
I had finally dug up the remains
of the garden you burnt into me,
when the scent of orange blossoms
found me once again.
One simple whiff planted
seeds of memory in my brain,
until they bloomed into a garden of nostalgia.
I was just beginning to forget, but there
was your coy smile, there was your snorting
laughter, there were your deep blue eyes.
I had almost forgotten them,
the exact shade of your eyes.
But now I remember that heavy blue,
the one I said was the sky at dusk.
I was so close to forgetting.
I wish I had forgotten.
That simple smell planted you back
into my head, and now I don’t know
how to dig you out without ripping up
my own roots.
I wish I didn’t have to hurt myself to get rid of you,
to pull out those fruits of memory with only a shovel.
But I must dig down until
I get to the roots, and then pull l until
I am free once again from your smile,
And after I am done
reaping you from my mind,
sprouts of memory remain.
They fester in the dying soil
and wait for a drop
of orange blossom scent
to let them bloom again.
Kitchen Countertop by Anisa Lopez