Exhausting A Memory: A Poem
WORDS BY PAYTON HOGAN.
My pages used to be an untouched ivory
The brush of fingers would elicit a crisp sound
Like that which would tempt an arsonist
The scratch and hum sound of a lighter would’ve completed me
But no longer
I crumple like tissue under the desperate thumbs of the writer
The abuse wrought by ink and tears
Has left me not quite a book, not quite a pillow
I provide neither knowledge nor comfort
But that doesn’t stop them
They read the entries of their past selves
Scratch back and forth in permanent pen
Until particles of my body flake away
They rewrite over the top, never satisfied
The truth they seek can never be found
They’re yet to see that it is all truth —
It is more than their human brain can understand
The brain that has been trained to believe in the objective
My insides are full of episodes translated into many languages
No memory is clear, no memory is as exact as the events themselves
But these are occurrences from years ago
If I were to speak to the writer, I could let them know
Each different perspective is a truth revisited
A new frame of reference with which to yield new insights
Who’s to say what is true? Who’s to say what is a lie?
The writer would see me full of nothing but lies
When in fact the truth of the matter no longer exists
They will find no enlightenment in their never-ending retrospect
I’ve been recycled a million times over and I see it again and again
Put to me to rest, and set me aflame
Let me finally be the air
EDITORIAL NOTE: This article has been reuploaded and was originally published in 2020.