Photo by Maksym Kaharlytskyi on UnsplashMemory Sonnet
A dream within a dream within a dream—
was that what it was like? The first scrim
drops and you call the broken bookshelf
that huge hunk of wood. Second scrim falls
and the green hills stretch into fields
without end. You hurl your club and curse
my father and we wonder if we ever
knew you. Or was it a labyrinth?
You wander halls with other white-haired women
as I follow with my ball of string.
Here’s what I’ve learned: A maze contains
multiple routes: wasted trips, dead ends.
But a labyrinth offers just one path
and it leads to the center. You can’t get lost.
