night sparks
and the tension starts
quiet – still
the mo-poke marks
the time
of the bitter night dark
Its good chocolate to take just in case. Dark tense and bitter sweet. When memories strike back, I gently push them into the compartments in the train, on tracks of memory creased into the land and held down by the iron gravity of a slight bend in time. The time we’re here to make our mark.
Memories start as pages nice and neat and friendly categorized. On floors on stairways and on the darkened corridors of the upper floor. Pages and pages, but non so organised as to be in a brightened book. But recently now in November dark, I remember things that happened, the bitter chocolate things that shouldn’t have been and for many years with tense energy I had pushed them. Pushed them again into those far flung corners of the house. Out of site and out of everyone’s mind. But now unfortunately those memory doors are unlocked and ghosts coming out of the cupboards with broken locks and swinging hinges.
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