Knee deep in memories

I’m standing here knee-deep in memories
the who and what of me
a name around my neck
a face almost ready to begin the day
and years and months and some other times
a vagueness about where I am
although the coordinates seldom change
41 latitude, 72 degrees longitude pulsing of the when and where
and a mostly inaccurate resolution of why
why is a skipping stone

Your resolutions are at the door
soaking into the carpet
annoying the dogs
peeling the wallpaper
fiddling with the incense
that makes private my space.

My memories are sacred
holy days, random days,
days of blank
or buckling with reality
daylight smeared with irregular possibilities
like the tent pole wanting to abandon
the canopy of everything
flinching, twisting with doubt
until in steadfast surrender
to guarding the ground.

Life is sticky
always wanting something
and getting it
or not getting it.
two shadows from the same tree
if only i could remember what I should
and forget the rest
or listen to what you are saying
without trying to fix what I think you need
and if I could stop myself from wondering
if what I said was worth saying
and instead just accept it
then the moment might be worth saving.