Color It Black
Poetry by Ashlyn Kincaid
isn't it strange
how a memory can morph
not in the sense that certain pieces are forgotten
I wish that's what I meant
no
I mean when a memory folds in on itself
what was once delightful and cherished
becomes the most painful thing you could ever bring into your brain
is anything finite?
it turns out it's easy to ruin a memory
logically that makes no sense
a memory is a memory
a fact is a fact
whatever happened is what happened
how can something that happened after
change the facts?
I had a memory fold
it’s us on the golf course
after hours
drinking beers
letting mosquitoes feast on our summer skin
submitting to being prey
because letting this moment end would be unthinkable
that memory transformed
now it twists the knife in my chest
all I see is you lying
conspiring
being callous
taking everything you could from me as quickly as possible
using me up
I see myself stupidly joyful, buoyant, and credulous
a dumbass
a happy dumbass
if I could color it in completely
with black ink
I would
every memory you infected
that might spare me the twisting of the knife
how a memory can morph
not in the sense that certain pieces are forgotten
I wish that's what I meant
no
I mean when a memory folds in on itself
what was once delightful and cherished
becomes the most painful thing you could ever bring into your brain
is anything finite?
it turns out it's easy to ruin a memory
logically that makes no sense
a memory is a memory
a fact is a fact
whatever happened is what happened
how can something that happened after
change the facts?
I had a memory fold
it’s us on the golf course
after hours
drinking beers
letting mosquitoes feast on our summer skin
submitting to being prey
because letting this moment end would be unthinkable
that memory transformed
now it twists the knife in my chest
all I see is you lying
conspiring
being callous
taking everything you could from me as quickly as possible
using me up
I see myself stupidly joyful, buoyant, and credulous
a dumbass
a happy dumbass
if I could color it in completely
with black ink
I would
every memory you infected
that might spare me the twisting of the knife
About the Writer