Drowning inexplicably
heard but ignored
invisible.
Burning in brick
searing flesh
anger.
Splashed with oil
a water child
unknown.
Speaking through wood
passionate obsession
to lift sound.
Suffocated
by superior presumptions
close but distinct.
Ash lifts with the wind
specks of dust fall
traces remain.
∼
©2016, ontheland.wordpress.com
Ontheland 
I spent a long time immersed in this poem Janice, there is a lot of interpretation for the reader.
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Yes there is much room for personal interpretation on a meaning or feeling level. I could say that the three-line memories are brief because they are faded and that is the case–though I do hold more within. The impetus for putting it down was the realization that early experiences that once had enormous weight now seem very faint…almost gone.
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Beautiful!
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Thank you Dorna
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I agree there is a lot here. An image of some sort of Victorian “water child” popped into my head. 🙂
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The past always lingers in some form. Nature of memories. I’ve learned, in my elderly years, how to sort out what I want to hold onto and let the rest go. Wonderful poetry, Janice. ❤
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Thanks Olga 🙂 yes some memories take more energy than others to let go of…and there are ones that surprisingly fade on their own.
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