I remember in highways
what is love
and I remember in highways…
in moments on lines,
like beads moving on thread,
strung to make pictures from pixels of glass.
I remember in fragments of myself,
in pointillist pops of colour against light –
stained glass memories of sun on shuddering leaves
in hot, August winds
who had forgotten how to weep
until September arrived.
these recollections of highways,
binding pieces of me
to all those open flaps of wonderings,
of wanting –
anchor me to the spaces between re-membering
longing to completely forget.
when I land “there” –
in these moments of recognising myself
against the backdrop of forgetting why I wanted to know me –
I pretend to ignore the pain in my ankles,
from the impact of the landing,
I feel only gratitude for the journey…
maybe a little loneliness, too,
for the pieces of me I had to leave when I arrived.
that’s always the bargain
when we remember in highways:
the place never leaves without you.