Amy Lynn Hess: Memory Like a Stone Statue

Spring '07 TOC

There’s something about           memory
like a stone statue.          With chips and
holes.               There’s something like a
museum    in    memory.            There’s
everything    elusive after you turn from
a memory.                There’s something
about memory                     like a stone
statue.
My great  grandparents  stopped  raising
Collies.      They put stone statues on the
stone steps of their farmhouse.   As time
went  on   the   stone dogs  chipped  and
faded and so did the stairs.    And so did
         memory.
               Precarious.
“There are twenty-seven windows in my
house,” she’d say when we’d see
her                        in the nursing home.
“Who is this young man?” he’d ask
when we went to see him in the nursing
home.   My  short   hair  confused  him.
 “An artist?               It’s good to have a
trade.”                            He had to live
in the nursing  home  because  he  kept
forgetting he had only one leg and would
get up out of bed
                        precariously      and fall
to the floor.     Memory  is  like  a  stone
statue,           or maybe
                     like a leg.
                       After a time, the
farmhouse
fell in
            from the second
            floor.

:: Next ::

Not Enough Night
Not Enough Night
© 2012 Naropa University