The past has no memory

by Margot Miller © 2006

 

The past has no memory of its own,

except in absence, sucking air

from the future, obscuring the present,
like molten glass frozen in time, unless

Unless we turn pain into the light;

look, just there, that unhappy color comes
from these two running together, and

it's going to happen again.

If we blow hot liquid sand into a new

shape, blend new color, make airy light

from fiery darkness, the flaws won't be erased

but the molecules will transform themselves.

A problem wants only a new question, one that

washes with fresh color a handful of stones

collected on a beach, one that suffers feeling

to come into stories on a great wave of passion,

 

as it pours pain into the crucible of expression

and transforms midnight into the newest hours of today.

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