Here at Brittany's Blog, I write and share poetry through #napowrimo & #the100dayproject You can follow my 100 day project on my Instagram handle @bone_to_ash I look forward to hearing from everyone.
Showing posts with label reality. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reality. Show all posts
Saturday, February 6, 2021
Wednesday, February 3, 2021
Day 4 of #the100dayproject
To Debate a Memory
I was in the field, then I wasn’t in the field
I was in the moss, under the cedar, but
It wasn’t a cedar, but a redwood and
I wasn’t wearing mary-janes, but always
In my mind, I’m wearing mary-janes.
I probably was barefoot, but I cannot
Say for sure. I was there, my skin pale
Against the wet green of the trees,
I was there, but maybe I wasn’t.
Maybe it was a dream, multifaceted.
Reoccurring, maybe I walked there, but
I was naked and it was not daylight
Maybe there was the moon silvering
The dew on the grass blades.
I know I was me, I know I had a body
But I do not know my age, I look back
And my body is like water, flowing
Changing, I am never the same,
And the me that was in the field,
Or in the moss, was that me or
Was that another version of me?
Maybe all this time I am someone
But not myself, only in the present
I am me, but in the past, the person
That was me is not me, only pieces
Of a body and a mind that if put together
Might look like me, but isn’t really me.
I was in the field, then I wasn’t in the field
I was in the moss, under the cedar, but
It wasn’t a cedar, but a redwood and
I wasn’t wearing mary-janes, but always
In my mind, I’m wearing mary-janes.
I probably was barefoot, but I cannot
Say for sure. I was there, my skin pale
Against the wet green of the trees,
I was there, but maybe I wasn’t.
Maybe it was a dream, multifaceted.
Reoccurring, maybe I walked there, but
I was naked and it was not daylight
Maybe there was the moon silvering
The dew on the grass blades.
I know I was me, I know I had a body
But I do not know my age, I look back
And my body is like water, flowing
Changing, I am never the same,
And the me that was in the field,
Or in the moss, was that me or
Was that another version of me?
Maybe all this time I am someone
But not myself, only in the present
I am me, but in the past, the person
That was me is not me, only pieces
Of a body and a mind that if put together
Might look like me, but isn’t really me.
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