A simpler poem this one, long on cliche, and leaning on a sort of seasonal montage for its structure (and looking at it, not at all hard to see which is my favourite season). It came from a time when a friend and I were enjoying trading insults in which one person says a sentence containing whatever-noun, and the other responds “you face is a whatever-noun”. I said the title of this poem in one of those exchanges, and it chimed something inside me, and about ten minutes later, I had this poem to show for it. Which is nice.
Written December 18, 2014.
Like the faded flowers of last summer
That we picked and twined in each other’s hair under the bright blue sky
Your face is a memory,
Like the fallen leaves of last autumn
That we crunched underfoot as we danced like mad things in the softly chilling wind
Your face is a memory,
Like the snowflakes of last winter
That we gathered into balls and snowmen in a world all turned white
Your face is a memory,
Like the breezes of last spring
That we inhaled and were invigorated by as the green world bloomed
Your face is a memory,
That I carry in my heart