you must remember how the fabric hung on the line:
blood-stained sheets folding over the wire
like damp and heavy butterfly wings
coiling backwards into cocoon-hood.
you must remember how the nylon would stretch:
between our hands in a tightened pull.
before we draped it over the others.
you must remember her plaid blouse swinging in the breeze:
as though it were trying
to escape from the wire
you must remember her lace nightgown gently dancing:
with the little pink flowers,
how they were like voices in our heads
reminding us of when
she would bend down and play.
you must remember the smell of the soap:
how it mixed with cigarettes
and freshly cut grass.
i know that the soap is what you remember most,
but describing a scent
is like describing a dream:
its vivid and pungent memory
impossible to recount to others
and this is why you must remember
everything else.
Olivia Loccisano is a Dramatic Arts, Photography and English teacher from Toronto, Canada. She is inspired by imaginary realism and how young women and children navigate the strange realms of the world through their own imaginations and rituals.
