DUST PILES, Poetry by Monique Haden

Sometimes we hold things in silence because

we have no clue where else to keep them.

Push and push with all my might to shove these

things deep inside my memory to form dust piles.

Let the edges tatter; set flame to it all. Feed the

fire, hear the crackles; watch the smoke signals.

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Genre: Life, Society

DUST PILES
by Monique Haden

Sometimes we hold things in silence because

we have no clue where else to keep them.

Push and push with all my might to shove these

things deep inside my memory to form dust piles.

Let the edges tatter; set flame to it all. Feed the

fire, hear the crackles; watch the smoke signals.

Watch fragments align and form tiny goodbyes to past hurts.

 

We twist memories making them realities when similarities are far and few.

I applaud my memory for its picky choosing to

hang onto some clips so vividly and turning some

such ashy shades of black and grey it’s hard to make out anything worth something.

 

It plays tricks on me making bigger deals

out of things that should be forgotten…

pulling bed sheets over my eyelids, heavily

blanketed slumbers bring flashbacks.

 

Oh, the vivid artistry of this complex mind: why

must you hang onto things worth trashing and

forget all the tiny threads that bound you together

each time you broke? Makin’ friends with the dust

piles, seeking comfort in the messes. Trying to

keep your fists clenched. Keeping palms clean

through the madness just so when it’s time to

interlock grips with someone you love, your pain

doesn’t stain their fingerprints…

 

I wanna learn to get my hands dirty if it means letting go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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