Compulsion of Memory.

By: Becky Ashby

Trapped in heaps of boxes

of useless possessions

of memories.

They evolve her,

not ready to let

go

just

yet.

Slowly,

going away,

each day.

She’s ready to be released

from this

'hobby',

nightmare,

compulsion.

Their knots

hold her down.

Avoiding family.

Too ashamed.

“How did you let it go this far?”

“How have you lived so long like this?”

Twenty-five cents,

two thousand dollars.

They’re all equal

of negative memories.

Keeping her from the good life.

If only the trash was washed away,

whin a snap.

The random antique doll;

her daughter moving out.

The broken plate;

when their dog's tennis ball hit the china cabinet.

The empty Coke can from 1990;

the drink she had on the day she met her past husband.

It's not an ideal form.

She's the magnet,

and the objects

are the metal.

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