hey ...this is me

Looking repeatedly into the past, I do not necessarily become fascinated with my own life
but rather the phenomenon of memory

The act of remembering becomes less autobiographical and very often feels blessedly impersonal

The traumatic moments fade into a reverie of events that happened to someone else - that girl who rushed forcefully into her experience

She is well seasoned now. Her instincts are like a bright sun, now low and sharp in the sky
Its radiance comes with shadows, flashing cobalt on deep water, sparkling

I am kin with her, that impulsive girl of so long ago. She is my child in the phenomenon of memory