The Faces of Memory

There is a multitude of stories I tell myself about what, or when, or why or what if, or why not. If I were to answer all of those W’s, it would be as if I were a tree stump. An old one that had been cut down at the edge of some age - maybe five, maybe 18, or all the ages of life. All these ‘voices’ sprouting from within 

me to pass on wisdom, or an old message that still hurts, or a recipe for ginger cookies, or how to measure twice, cut once - 

was that plywood or fabric? And 

then I know I have only attached 

a memory to them with a face 

and so very much meaning.

 

“Memories of our lives, our weeks, and our deeds will continue in others.”

~ Rosa Parks