Memory is the enemy.
Memory is a persistent beggar with an opiate
dependency and cigarette holes in the upholstery.
Memory is a slippery slope and a jammed clutch, always
trying to drag you back to a place that was once home.
Memory is a lonesome god.
Memory is a false bottom, a trap door, a trick candle
that embarrasses you every year on your birthday.
Memory is a neon sign you can see from every highway.
Memory is the rabid dog that follows you
all the way home after work.
Memory is a wayward soothsayer.
Memory is a casket with a peephole.
Memory is a clock that weeps.
Memory is a self-loathing prophecy with cracked lips,
begging for another pull of the past—and her dizzy Oracle,
dagger pressed against my breast, demanding recompense
for every tomorrow I thought
I’d never see.
- Cierra Lowe-Price, 2020