The search begins and ends
in this same spot every day,
where the concrete beneath me
is as hard as a cold-blooded heart
but as giving of daylong warmth
as a full bottle.
The seeking is much better at night,
when you can’t see the memories
in the face of the sun.
Those are the ones that hurt
if you stare too long at them.
And faces are meant to be ignored.
Illumination and clarity
are overrated anyway when
what you’re trying to remember
is how to forget, and the memory
is as rough as this concrete upon
which the search begins and ends.
I prefer the hard and warm
of this perch, and the comfort
of that bottle, to the soft
and cold arms that won’t let me go,
chill and flaccid as the lips
they drew to mine.
—Joseph Hesch
© 2015, poem, Joseph Hesch; Photo, Walmart Man, ©Kellie Elmore
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A mysterious poem with its mysterious search that avoids memories, dark memories…while the darkness hides and somehow comforts, yet it is the cold comfort, perhaps of death (the flaccid lips). Disturbing and powerful in its mystery.
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The imagery in this is so gritty, Joseph. I imagine this is lived by far too many people each day. I like the internal juxtipositions in this piece. Well written!
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