20160410 (memories)

You know there are things in those records to which you've got to say goodby.

Every year after tax filings

I engage in a cathartic process

The shredding of documents,

Dispatching to the waste at least 

Five blue plastic grocery bags

Full of bank statements, old checks,

Utility bills, medical records, etc.

Handling them again after 

Years was once nostalgic—

Except for these years, which

Remind me why I finally

Thought to dissolve a hasty 

Union. When I ground up the

Records for 2001 I came across

What I think was the last of

Jean’s signatures, but I did not

Want to preserve it as more

Valuable than any of her other

Works—her stitchery, her letters,

Which I did save,  I thought, but

Cannot now locate—tossed in 

Error—I certainly hope not.

I wonder if the several hours of

Effort are worth it. Perhaps I 

Should just heave them in a 

Chunk and dare someone to

Reconstruct my life. Would 

They ever be able to figure

Which were the happy expenses

And which exaggerated the 

Stress? Which paychecks led

To confidence and which weren’t

Sufficient? Which records enabled

Rest, which meant sleepless

Nights? Those with the notes 

On them, “over again,” would

Tell part of the story but none

Were highlighted, “this was a 

Better time.” Even if they had

Been there’d be damn few of 

Them. Would such scrutiny

Yield a novel of two older

Souls who should have loved 

More wisely but for all the

Reasons in their life could not

Rework the flow of fate?

Could anyone tell from that

Unhappy compilation how

Much longer the struggle

Would last? Would they even

Need to see the next year’s 

Records to know things would

Worsen—like another chapter

In Anna Karenina? Or would

They see it as daytime drama—

A fairly simple mismatch of 

Spirits, of not all that grandeur,

Just stretched out to last the 

Season as background to a

Better story taking place with

A second couple after the

First set of commercials,

And whose demise brought

No tears.

c. J.S.Manista, 2016