Memory demands acknowledgement.
We may plan and prod it
into something quite remarkable–
a celebration complete with the grandiosity of parties, finery, expense.
a memory is blinked into recollection,
yet tinged by sadness or delight.
invites it to take shape in front of us
and we are immersed in the moment once again.
I came upon a raw moment of memory as I listened to stories of
survivors of sexual violence.
That is the premise of this reflection:
I dressed up pretty today.
[a mighty effort to repel the devils that pull and torture my psyche.]
This is the day it happened,
I will not let that memory mar this happy day,
my independence day.
No flags or bands.
I dressed up pretty
in a new dress I bought to celebrate.
But I was tired and I left early,
weeping over words that cut into my soul.
I dressed up pretty.
I went home.
I drank some vodka.
And I cried.
©Nancie Chmielewski updated 4/10/15