The Living Memory
NOTE:
"Milo" within the poem is a therapist narrative voice, answering and breaking into my 'lamentations. As I begin to speak with him, we talk about Diane--a friend of mine who overdosed, who led me to see a real therapist which had the result of creating the Milo narrative voice for me to talk to myself in times of sadness and stress--as we move from the past misfortune to the present misfortune, it is intended to be a conversation between myself and my therapist about how I feel about Shelly's death. The lines in quotation marks are responses by the third person therapist embodiment Milo.
Dedicated to memory of Shelly Wicker.
Rest well my flower.
Brandon K. Nobles, 3-28-14
1st draft
The Living Memory
1
Milo, are you there?
“Hello—“
How have you been old friend?
“You know—“
I saw Diane, again,
“Her ghost?”
Of all the friends that I have lost,
she bothers me the most of all.
“What did you see?”
She waved at me.
2
Through the window,
down the eaves—
She follows me into my dreams.
“She can’t return.”
She never leaves.
“A haunting?”
I guess, possibly.
“What can you do?”
I’ll talk to you.
“God, this feels like déjà vu.”
3
There is no cost to put on loss.
“Life has a price.”
But can’t be bought!
For when one dies,
a sun has set;
We have one life.
“That’s all we get.”
It’s not a lull,
it is a bye.
The sun is swallowed by the night.
To get to live is such a gift.
“It isn’t offered twice.”
4
“Most of you believe the lie,
that life's in infinite supply.”
Memories are all we have;
“A soul trapped in a photograph.”
Touch her brush, and feel her hair,
“And watch her as she disappears.”
Above she hovers trapped in space,
With a white dress and a glowing face,
“Try to grab her.”
Childish laughter;
She evaporates.
So much I wish I could have told her.
“And now it is too late.”
She'll live forever on the page.
5
I guess we’re chasing yesterday--
By crisscrossing memory lanes;”
All I think of is her name.
Shelly who I barely knew,
Was as good as me or you;
Giotto’s charity and grace—
“It’s written plainly on her face.”
6
Loss is the name we give to Death,
But we should not use regret.
Nor should we ever so forget,
That’s something we should never do
She lives in me, and lives in you;
“And now upon this paper too.”
A eulogy to me you see—
Are shadows of a slanted beam.
7
Taken young and far too soon,
She died under a paper moon.
I guess I just believed that lie,
That life’s in limitless supply.
“That might sound good.”
It would be nice.
Life is a gift not offered twice.
“The rarest thing—you get to live.”
No words can any comfort give.
She has gone, and hope has flown;
The soul at last has made it home.
Shelly I wish that you could see,
That you live on in memories.
And'll remember you;
So on behalf of all our town,
We hope that you some peace have found.
"Milo" within the poem is a therapist narrative voice, answering and breaking into my 'lamentations. As I begin to speak with him, we talk about Diane--a friend of mine who overdosed, who led me to see a real therapist which had the result of creating the Milo narrative voice for me to talk to myself in times of sadness and stress--as we move from the past misfortune to the present misfortune, it is intended to be a conversation between myself and my therapist about how I feel about Shelly's death. The lines in quotation marks are responses by the third person therapist embodiment Milo.
Dedicated to memory of Shelly Wicker.
Rest well my flower.
Brandon K. Nobles, 3-28-14
1st draft
The Living Memory
1
Milo, are you there?
“Hello—“
How have you been old friend?
“You know—“
I saw Diane, again,
“Her ghost?”
Of all the friends that I have lost,
she bothers me the most of all.
“What did you see?”
She waved at me.
2
Through the window,
down the eaves—
She follows me into my dreams.
“She can’t return.”
She never leaves.
“A haunting?”
I guess, possibly.
“What can you do?”
I’ll talk to you.
“God, this feels like déjà vu.”
3
There is no cost to put on loss.
“Life has a price.”
But can’t be bought!
For when one dies,
a sun has set;
We have one life.
“That’s all we get.”
It’s not a lull,
it is a bye.
The sun is swallowed by the night.
To get to live is such a gift.
“It isn’t offered twice.”
4
“Most of you believe the lie,
that life's in infinite supply.”
Memories are all we have;
“A soul trapped in a photograph.”
Touch her brush, and feel her hair,
“And watch her as she disappears.”
Above she hovers trapped in space,
With a white dress and a glowing face,
“Try to grab her.”
Childish laughter;
She evaporates.
So much I wish I could have told her.
“And now it is too late.”
She'll live forever on the page.
5
I guess we’re chasing yesterday--
By crisscrossing memory lanes;”
All I think of is her name.
Shelly who I barely knew,
Was as good as me or you;
Giotto’s charity and grace—
“It’s written plainly on her face.”
6
Loss is the name we give to Death,
But we should not use regret.
Nor should we ever so forget,
That’s something we should never do
She lives in me, and lives in you;
“And now upon this paper too.”
A eulogy to me you see—
Are shadows of a slanted beam.
7
Taken young and far too soon,
She died under a paper moon.
I guess I just believed that lie,
That life’s in limitless supply.
“That might sound good.”
It would be nice.
Life is a gift not offered twice.
“The rarest thing—you get to live.”
No words can any comfort give.
She has gone, and hope has flown;
The soul at last has made it home.
Shelly I wish that you could see,
That you live on in memories.
And'll remember you;
So on behalf of all our town,
We hope that you some peace have found.
♠ ♠ ♠
"Milo" within the poem is a therapist narrative voice, answering and breaking into my memory. As I begin to speak with him, we talk about Diane--a friend of mine who overdosed, we move from the past misfortune to the present misfortune. The lines in quotation marks are responses by the third person therapist embodiment Milo.