The Moya View

Tag: Memory

  • Cardboard


    Given enough cardboard and tape I could make my own childhood house.At least until winter. Then, it allflattened, became one big sledthat raced down the brown foothills,so out of control, fast, faster still,until a Plymouth door handle left a permanent time scar on my forehead- one, two, three little rivers forging into each other.Now, that…

  • Father, Sin and Holy Ghost

    Father, Sin and Holy Ghost

    I squatter in the catacombs of remembrance. grinding my bones with pumice and chalk for a fine bone dust to clean the vellum bindings of my soul’s revisions.  The scars glitter the ground.   All the others with almost identical names, are around me, enough alike to make me doubt the date I was born.   Something…

  • the   spaces   she   left   behind

    the spaces she left behind

    they turned    brown    before   you    arrived by    the    time  you   came   on    them swiped  the    dust    off  turned   the    pages they    were crumbling    you never   looked at    the rest    surrendering   them   to   silence     you      could      lie     down    again          now there    was   nothing   between   you     now the    rain     was    beginning     outside or      was      it        just     the    …

  • Beautiful Flashes of Life

    Beautiful Flashes of Life

    Grandma Clara knew this day would come,so she put on her favorite blue & white dress.She had been waiting for this, for a long time.Clara switched the television channel to the one her grandkids watched all the time.She pulled up her wheelchair, stowed it neatly in the corner. Clara didn’t want her son/grandkids, stumbling over…

  • An Old Poet

    An Old Poet

    The old poet walks downs the streets of his dying city.The ancient tenements, stories upon stories of them,rise up before him. He thinks he may have inhabited them. He remembers- he built them but never inhabited them. He looks closer and the bricks are in the shape of his mothers teeth-square and right and just;the…

  • The Water Calls  Us Down

    The Water Calls Us Down

    The water call us down.She names us and we call her ours. Down we goand we sleep.Awakenedwe remember- that blue pool-the one with no bottom.

  • Soft Body Memories of Our Grief

    We exist in unkeepable bodies   and in the bending over we decompose   for we are are but the memory of grief   that soft bodies leave when they die.

  • The Sea Grape Remembers

    The Sea Grape Remembers

    It has been five years since I visited you my old Sea Grape friend, standing proud and wizened in the front yard, unbothered by all the construction behind. Everything is smaller and crowded than I once lived it, except for you— still the right size for a wild girl to climb, providing enough shade for…