Have you ever wondered once a memory is made if anyone really knows
where that memory ends up…where that memory goes?
Does it flow into our brain?Is that where memories start?
If so, then how is it that some memories find their way into our heart?
The other morning I was walking…the orange blossoms in full bloom
when I was reminded of my Grandma…they smelled like her perfume.
Soon a memory of her popped up…then another memory would stir
and before I knew it there I was…awash…in memories of her.
It was as if the scent of orange blossoms opened a faucet
a spigot…or a spout
and I had to smile as memories of Grandma came quickly flowing out.
I stood there for a while as memory after memory came to me
picking them out of the air…like oranges off a tree.
Memories of her stayed with me a while as I went about my day
some lingered longer than others before eventually fading away.
And this led me to wonder as the memories of Grandma faded
as the last one lost it's glow
where did those memories come from…and where did those memories go?
Are memories patiently waiting…always nearby…hanging around
eager to be called up by a random smell…a sight…a sound?
And then I thought…I don't need to know…
it's really none of my concern…
where they come from…
or where they go…
as long as they return.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem