Thursday night, again (a poem)

Because it occurs to me that there is a connection that I have pushed so far to the back of my mind that I don’t remember what it is.

A small picture rests in a corner
of the back of my mind,
like a nagging thought,
probably with a bunch of boxes
stacked in front of it.
I don’t know what that picture might be,
but I could easily convince myself
it’s fraught with meaning—
thus the subterfuge.
I do know that I’m given
to placing things where I know they’ll be safe,
and then months later giving up on looking
when I can’t remember where I’ve put them.
Whatever the clever reason for this is,
it is beyond my understanding.
As always.
But it’s that nagging thought
that will be revealed to be
the source of the through line
connecting the disparate threads
I long mistook for frays and split ends
Some are frayed and split.
Some might have answers.
One might have the solution.
Will I recognize that small picture
when I see it?

(25 March 2021)

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