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Keeper of Memories
In musty basement dark
of that old house upon the hill
an old man finds a tattered leather case
(dimpled faux-finish, I now see)
caresses it as though it were his lover,
while I stand by and watch.
Gnarled hands fumble
at a rusty clasp that keeps
the contents from intrusion.
In spite of trembling that I know so well,
unwanted company of his later years,
he eases the lid open on its wobbly hinges.
Pungent aromas escape to fan
familiar once-upon-a-time remembrances
of when I was a child.
Images flash forward,
rape my ears, my eyes–
and cold smooth surfaces, my touch,
so that a melding of sensations
hurls me back in time
to when I sat in expectation,
and listened to the quiet.
He brings the contents now to view.
No longer does she gleam,
yet there beneath patina tinged with tarnish
I smell music.
Clutching her now against his concave chest
he shuffles rhythmically across the room,
remembering, no doubt those evenings
spent upon the porch in twilight murmurings.
Once settled in between the cushions
of a tattered, dusty chair
he raises up the precious object to his lips and blows.
Diminished breath invades her inner being.
But I am overcome by remnants,
not of sound, but scent
that lingers still within the archives of my soul
in saxophonic exclamation.
A poem posted this week by Claudia (jaywalkingthemoon) set fire to a memory that I embellished quite a bit. Thank you for the sorely needed inspiration, Claudia. As a side note, I have read that the sense that most evokes memories is smell.
I am linking this to dVerse Open Link Night. I hope everyone enjoys a visit to the pub this week and I look forward to sampling your offerings.
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Today at church
Victoria C. Slotto, Author 