In Memory of My Memory
Okay, so this happened on Tuesday.
Was it Monday?
What day is it?
It was Sunday.
Yes, it was Sunday because
Sunday means I get to drive up north and say hi to the maple trees.
I like trees.
They are nice neighbours.
They are always standing there,
I like trees because
They create these oddly beautiful shapes that make me want to have hyperextended joints.
I like trees because, unlike me,
they have no problem standing in one place for a long time.
They stand firm,
breathing out as I breathe in.
I am pretty sure I was a tree in a different life.
Or I will be.
I’m pretty sure it was Sunday because that morning,
my two favorite little monsters came into my room
and serenaded me with a melodious: What’s for breakfast?
They smelled like all hungry monsters do: organic lavender.
I’m pretty sure their scent is still on my pillow.
I don’t know what I would do without my little monsters.
What I do know is,
That morning, I made chocolate-chip banana pancakes with a little bit of cinnamon.
Making pancakes is my way of saying “I appreciate you” because
Because, let’s be real, who doesn’t appreciate a thick, fluffy pancake?
Yeah, I know they are probably out there…Those pancake-hating people.
Yeah, they are probably hiding somewhere dark like bats inside a cave.
Afraid of light.
Afraid of pancakes.
At any rate, I’m sure it was Sunday because
Sundays are meant for healing.
It is on Sundays when I believe I have everything I need.
I can feel the ground in which my feet stand
and I can see time in the mirror.
Was it Sunday, though?
what I was trying to say is,
The other day,
I was placed inside a car and was driven to the river.
My grandmother believes that going near water
Is a good way to wash off the malignant energies trying to tame us.
An opportunity to cleanse the stains of our past and make room for what is yet to come.
It’s my own way of (pause)
all I wanted,
on that Sun-day,
my last birthday,
was to sit on the rocks,
listen to the water,