January 15, 2015

Remembering by Danny Earl Simmons

There are memories that stick
like cigarette smoke
and stain white things yellow.

Like that one time
when, right in front of her,
I cried until my face was slick.

There are other memories, though,
that fill my lungs with light
and make me hold my breath
just so I can keep the pure air there.

Like that one time
it had been steady gray in the valley.
I’d been alone for a long time
and I drove to the top of Mary’s Peak,
half hoping to fall asleep on the way
and drift over the edge
right into a more natural state.

When I got to the top,
I was crushed by a foamy high tide
of the whitest white clouds
that filled the expanse between me
and the Warm Springs pools beckoning.
All I had to do was run and reach
and I could have touched the Cascades.

What a deep breath I took right then.






Danny Earl Simmons is an Oregonian, a friend of the Linn-Benton Community College Poetry Club, and an active member of Albany Civic Theater. His poems have appeared in a variety of journals such as The Pedestal Magazine, Naugatuck River Review, Off the Coast, IthacaLit, and Fifth Wednesday Journal.

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