SOUVENIR ROUGE

“We degenerate into hideous puppets, haunted by the memory of the passions of which we were much afraid, and the exquisite temptations that we had not the courage to yield to.” - Oscar Wilde

There are some cupboards, some seldom opened drawers, some taped up boxes in every home, where we have locked up objects that serve as silent souvenirs of times past. Photographs, letters, small keepsakes, pressed flowers, a gift or two, some trifle that on first glance a stranger would look at curiously and dismiss as “junk”. All of those hidden reminders of times that have been, carefully secreted in some dark place where their strident voice is muffled are thus easily ignored.

The larger, bulkier mementos are more difficult to discount. Furniture, paintings, cars, houses even. Our past lives live on in these possessions that persist even if our life has moved on. Catharsis can occur only if these reminders are shed. New furniture, anyone?


This blog entry is part of the Magpie Tales meme.

Souvenir Rouge

You know the rules,
X marks the spot:
“Thou shalt not venture beyond this yellow line”
Cerise dreams are out of bounds.

The brickwork sighs
And shapely thighs
Have left depressions on the embarrassed couch –
Crimson words are best left unspoken.

Soft liquid drips,
Moans left embroidered
On the fabric; lyrics to sweet songs,
Port-wine poetry not to be recited.

Flushed memories
Abandoned keepsakes
Once part of a pair, ruby sofa, your
Blood-red histories are to be expunged
On the garbage heap.