Images conflate, though tossed and torn,
Long since forgotten, left on hooks,
Wrenched away from neural nooks
of memory, hanging bare, forlorn.
Which rested dormant through the years,
Outliving weddings, day-to-days of married bliss,
They hid, obscured, through nights and years of tears,
Outliving schooldays, puberty, and sweet, first kiss.
Outlasting holidays and trips to foreign lands,
Surviving through the winters, falls and springs,
Outlasting pregnancies and graduations grand,
Surviving, too, youth’s carefree summer flings.
In technicolor detail, sharp! Pronounced!
I question why, at this ripe age, it should replay.
Why, on this unmarked day, it should pounce
upon my psyche, as a panther seizes prey.
We come into this world with slate wiped clean,
Past lives erased, though I suspect sneak through,
From whence these dream-like images are gleaned
I know not, but I’m grateful for the view.
This was written in response to Studio30+ prompt asking that we employ the phrase: ” It should pounce.”