Have We Met Before? Poem by Leah Ayliffe
Have We Met Before?
I threw away all the things I kept in a box that reminded me of you.
I burned the birthday card you made that held all the pretty words which made me feel like your whole world.
I watched the fire erase each letter, melt each photo of the people we used to be.
I watched in silence as I finished my cigarette, lit from the pasts flame.
It was done.
I closed the gate and locked the doors.
I've changed the lock so your enchanting charm cannot work its magic if someday you feel like returning.
Free from it all, the weight of what could've been no longer haunting, lingering in each new day.
Free. Well for at least a few days.
You see, today my eye caught something glittering in the corner of my wardrobe.
A wave of fondness washed over me as I pulled out the Christmas Stocking you decorated for me, covered in stars and words in glitter 'you're the best! ' - There it is, more evidence to remind my soul there was a different life you and I used to lead.
I'm still all about forgetting.
I don't feel like getting lost in nostalgia.
But my emotion or passion to violently throw this sentiment away isn't strong today.
The fan is loud in my room and as it blows past my body, through my hair, it blows away the lovely thoughts of what was.
There is no use waiting around for a wave of disgust to let it go.
Another trip to the trash can, I think I'm getting good at this.
I think I really mean it as I say goodbye to all that was gold which has been turned into stone.
I'm not remembering so much anymore....
In fact, have we ever met before?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/4/2024 4:38:17 PM # 1.0.0.1119
You have always used the long line in your poems because you need that length for the narrative details in your poems. But the lines in this poem are especially long and narrate so much detail HAVE WE MET BEFORE? is as much a short story as a poem. The story is one of loss which you express without anger or sentimentality. There is rather a wistful quality like Kurt Vonnegut's repeated phrase SO IT GOES. But the event that generated thus poem was a stab of memory of past happiness in finding the Christmas gift unexpectedly. I won't dwell on this because it must be painful and your poem is a brave attempt to overcome loss. I'll just say I felt the truth of your words and this poem may give someone else dealing with loss just the right attitude. So it goes.