Roses that smelled of plastic stems and flocking
Come-ons that were half-heard, half-smelled; brilliant
Glass cleaned antiseptic, floral.
The garden was remade of the sticky bones
And we wore it, not like silk and cotton, but hot
As only thin-spun oil can be.
I'll tell you how it used to be.
Where we used to go, before they scraped
Every memory from the land, amnesiac and weedy,
It used to smell of books and popcorn.
We used to walk down the aisles and gather
Every kind of growth and blossom; silver, ceramic,
Lost time strapped to your wrist.
Thanks to Shay at The Sunday Muse for this brilliant image and a thousand apologies for the way it sparked something not quite perfectly referential. My writing brain is still working at half-capacity.
-- Chrissa
Poignant, "where we used to go, before they scraped every memory from the land."
ReplyDeleteYour poetry is amazing! Always. Walking the aisles, the smells ... remind me of the theatre in the small town where I grew up.
ReplyDeleteI haven't been in a movie theatre for many years, but this poem brought it all back to me.
Delete"Where we used to go" I'm proud to say the theater in my little town *on old Route 66) has been restored and now shows productions by the local community theater group! Some of the grand old ladies are being restored in towns across the country, thank heaven!
ReplyDeleteYour imagery always transports me to somewhere significant and beautiful Chrissa! This is both poetry and stunning prose! It makes me long for those days and what it feels we have lost.
ReplyDeleteSo good! Lots of amazing language and imagery here. "The garden was remade of the sticky bones" -- wow!
ReplyDeleteOh, we need old buildings like this, and great words to describe them, like yours.
ReplyDeleteYou've left me with a vivid image of "Lost time strapped to your wrist." Such a powerful phrase.
ReplyDeleteAlso, I suspect that from now on--at least for a while--lost time will smell "of plastic stems" to me.
DeleteThe line "Come-ons that were half-heard, half-smelled" brought me right back to my teens and early twenties, and a couple of clubs I'd known then. :D The other details are also so powerful...they really establish how visceral nostalgia can be sometimes.
ReplyDeleteYou had me at the opening line, this is absolutely riveting, Chrissa!💝💝
ReplyDeleteWow. Makes me want to cry and smell books and popcorn. I fell into it. Love the last line about time strapped to the wrist.
ReplyDeleteI love this. So many vivid, succulent images to mark the passing of time. Beautiful.
ReplyDeleteThis is so beautiful....vivid!
ReplyDeleteOften when returning to ones hometown after many years there is both pleasure and sadness when streets, shops and people that you once loved have gone and feel sad that it doesn't belong to you anymore. Beautiful writing Chrissa.
ReplyDeleteMemory is so often visceral and sensual and you've written it that way, even down to the stuff that's disposable or common. Good stuff.
ReplyDeleteSooo many goodies packed in here. My favorite is "the sticky bones." Things change and we miss our familiar ones. But they are good talking to the grandchildren to help amaze them. If we can get their noses out of the YouTube teen junk.
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Brilliant descriptions, both of the bleak present and the nostalgic past. I felt I entered the poem and became one of those who used to walk down the aisles etc.
ReplyDeletelost time strapped to your wrist- beautiful
ReplyDeleteSo many places hold powerful memories. It breaks my heart to walk the rubble or an empty lot and try to resurrect the feeling of what they once brought me.
ReplyDeleteyes, i can understand the hints of sadness and forlornness in this poem. i too have similar things to say about a former fun place. great write!
ReplyDeleteAh, movie theatres! Part of me thinks that I won't ever go to one again in this lifetime. I loved going to the movies as a kid. I love your poem!
ReplyDeleteLove this, Chrissa, especially, "it used to smell of books and popcorn."
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