Eighteen Months Later
.
Julie Buffaloe-Yoder
Those memories
are triggered
by small things.
.
The smell of cloves
at the grocery store.
.
A dented can of peaches.
.
The way the bag boy
lifts one dark eyebrow
when he asks if you want
paper or plastic.
.
Just when you think
you can walk home
without thinking,
.
a screen door slams
in the distance.
.
You smell burnt fish
in the hallway.
.
You drink a cup of tea.
A soul rises in steam
around your lips
then goes cold,
disappears.
.
You sit in the dark,
grip the handle
of a cracked blue mug
.
the lingering taste
of honey
on your tongue.
.
It is so hard to get past certain memories, especially ones tightly associated to senses like smell and taste. Eighteen months isn’t very long is it really?
Hugs to you, Julie.
Hi, Technobabe. You are so right. Eighteen months is a short time. Isn’t it weird how the oddest sensory images will bring things back? I guess it’s probably there all along, in the subconscious. Thank you very much! It’s always awesome to see you. I hope your week is going well.
excellent poem, julie. i had this same reaction when i was looking through a box of fishing tackle. all sorts of memories took me off guard. the smell of the tackle. i love that you use you instead of i. it makes the poem immediate for me.
ok. i get it. it’s the bag boy, right?
Julie, i likes you style.
Dan, the smell of the fishing tackle/memory would make a great poem. Please write it! Yes, the “you” was for the immediacy you mention. I’m tickled that you noticed that. Thanks so much for the good words. You’re awesome.
Howdy, Jack. No sir…I don’t mess with them bag boys! Are you trying to get me arrested? Haha!
Thanks so much. I like your style, too. Will talk more when I’m back at the Buffaloe estates:)
I think it works best because what is remembered is left out. The reader is pulled in, having to fill in that unknown, and place in the poem with all your “you/your” references. This is another winner. 😀
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Hi, Yousei. I appreciate that you noticed that. The original drafts included the actual memories, but those details seemed to bog the poem down. So I took them out. I figured the exact memories aren’t the purpose of the poem, and the reader can either imagine or fill in the blanks with their own memories. So thank you! -Julie
Cloves–instant smell memories there.
I liked this one!
Hello, Storialist. Thanks for your kind words and visit!
Hi Julie,
I’m sorry I haven’t been around in ages, but you do know how it gets, don’t you?
This poem sounds familiar to me; it’s ringing all sorts of bells.
I am definitely one for these sorts of memories, particularly tastes take me right back. Of course some are good and some not so good.
I’ve forgotten how much I love your work.
Kat
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Hi, Kat. No problem at all. It’s great to see you. Thanks for the good words and visit. -Julie
I have to agree with what has already been said, Julie. The common triggers that bring it all back, the soul rising in the steam, and the sweetness lingering on the lips describe a sadness that all of us who have lost have come to know. Your choice of “you” rather than first person is really smart. You’ve made it ours.
“Just when you think
you can walk home
without thinking,
a screen door slams
in the distance.”
Beautiful and meaningful poem.
Hello, Karen. As always, I am happy to see you and love your comments. Thank you!
Smells are the ones that always get me. The short crisp lines in the poem give it an ominous tone to me. As everyone else has said, a gem of a poem.
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Hi, Brigindo. You’re right about the tone. The mug is cracked and blue. The narrator grips the handle. The fish are burnt. The can of peaches dented.
It’s an older poem…one that helped me work some things out, but I wasn’t sure why I chose to post it this week in particular. Now I remember an event that happened on this date that involved memories in the poem! I doubt that makes sense to anyone other than me. But in other words, I’m always blown away by what the subconscious will make me do. Thanks so much! -Julie
i’m with Yousei – some poems are rooms, this one’s a door. this is a poet who trusts herself by trusting her reader. i love that.
and i love the last stanzas – the dark, the grip, the taste. the feel of that is entirely up to us. i’m taking notes on this. it is exceptional.
Thank you, Joaquin. I always appreciate your good words. I’m very glad that you are reading your own thoughts into the poem, because that is what I had hoped the reader would do. Thank you very much!
I love that you don’t allude to exactly what happened 18 months ago…you leave that to us, and that puts us into thinking about the memory triggers. It’s amazing how much smell and taste trigger those melancholy connections, isn’t it? Your form makes this very universal.
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Hi, Cat. Thank you so much! Your good words always lift me up on rainy days. I just sent you an e-mail and will keep in touch:) -J
No memory was evoked by the bag boy for me but the rest brought a flood of images of people and places I do recall with the attendant emotion associated with them.
Hi, WM. Haha! The bag boy didn’t evoke any memories? Well, actually…I shouldn’t joke about that. I do mean the eyebrow (or the gesture) and not the bag boy himself. Little gestures people make often remind me of other people. It’s sort of nice, though. I can go anywhere and meet people I “know.” Thanks so much, WM. I appreciate the good words.
Burnt fish, honey, cloves, dented peach cans. All distinct images and sensations, almost a continent each one, but pulled together through memory, words, and this poem.
Lovely, Julie.
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Thank you, Terresa. I really appreciate the good words. -Julie
julie, i held my breath until the last word. wow. this maybe one of my favorites of yours..its very vivid and gripping. i really love the economy of words and short lines.
Hi, Odessa. Thank you so much. I’m glad you’re back and hope your trip was good.
Hi Julie, I’ve read your poem through several times, over the past few days. I also like how you’ve made the feelings universal, rather than specific. I keep thinking, maybe, this poem, has something to do with your foreclosure, maybe partly because I had the pleasure of reading Price Reduced Again. My copies arrived in the mail just as I was leaving to visit my mother, and I took them with me, later reading the volume at her dining table with a late night frozen dinner. I love Price Reduced (Again), the title poem, along with Pawn Shop Blues, Millie Willis Works as a Cashier, Leaky Shingles, They Call Her Lucy, The Ones in Front…, The Man in the Dark, Wish in One Hand, and We’ll Call It Sweet Beulah Land (have I named them all?), and I enjoyed all the rest. Anyway, whatever the origin of the memories, like Technobabe said, I’m sending hugs to you, too. The final stanzas to me, say it all: as you grip the cracked handle of a blue mug, the lingering taste of honey on your tongue. Your poem definitely speaks of loss, but also of memories worthwhile.
Hi, Annie. Thank you so much for your wonderful words about my poem here and the chapbook. I really appreciate that you purchased, and I’m glad you like it. We haven’t foreclosed yet, but the reality scares me. We hang on the edge. Maybe we’ll make it for six more months. Maybe we won’t. There are lots of foreclosures in the area, which makes it even harder to sell. Most of the people in the chap were people I met in just the last year. Their stories inspire me to appreciate what I do have. Yet I still catch myself mourning the loss sometimes. It sucks to work for years to have something, then it’s gone.
There’s still some cock-eyed optimism, like in Beulah Land, which is why I put it last in the book. At least I have some options that a lot of people don’t have. And we’re in a beautiful little rental house that’s affordable, thanks to a nice landlord. A lot of people don’t have that, either.
But all that being said, your comparison of this poem to the events in the chap is great. That seriously blows me away and teaches me something about myself. I actually wrote this poem a few years ago about a different loss, but it’s an awesome comparison. I never thought about this poem as being a loss of a home, but it could fit so well! The title poem in the chap uses memories to mourn the loss of a home. This one uses memories to mourn a loss, as well.
Thanks again, Annie. You taught me something about myself today! People sometimes ask me why I take the time to “talk” to people in the comments section. It’s great to meet people and enjoy them. But it also inspires me and makes me think. I appreciate your careful and thoughtful reads.
You sure know how to get right to the heart of the reader through imagery. I love the soul rising like steam…. A poignant poem, beautifully written.
Hi, Christine! It’s great to see you, sis. Thank you very much! I hope your weekend is beautiful.
Great, Julie! I love the bag-boy and the way the peaches and their dented can are given one line for themselves, the way this poem breathes is excellent.
Reading Annie’s post makes me keen to get your chapbook – do you know if Crystal is still on e-mail? I’ve not heard back from my last 2 e-mails – could I buy it from you directly?
Hi, Ashley! Thank you! I’d be glad to work something out with the chap. Would you mind if I e-mailed you? Or if you e-mail a quick hello to me at juliebuff AT gmail DOT com, I’ll reply and explain what I’m talking about.
Thanks again and for your interest and all your kind words. It’s most appreciated!
I love reading comments. They make the experience of reading your poem even fuller than it was when it was just between you and me, the invisible writer and the receiving reader. I like someone saying the poem breathes. Its rhythm is like bated breathe…just when you thought….
I can feel the pride you take in this poem. It is good and finished and available to me. You’re an excellent editor if you were able to see that specific memories were extraneous to the poem, and that the second-person pronoun enhanced it, and why.
Hi, Chris. Oh, yes. I enjoy the comments so much. I guess it’s one of the reasons I share the work. That communication with another human being is beautiful. Of course, I might not feel the same way if somebody said I suck…haha! But…seriously…it really does get me charged up, and I’ve written several poems just from inspiration I’ve received in the comments section. That is awesome.
Well, speaking of comments, thank you very much for yours! I hope your weekend was beautiful.
I love it, Jules.
And I marvel at all the detail you include in your lines: The smell of cloves, the dented can of peaches, the dark eyebrow, the screen door slamming, burnt fish …
And this:
“A soul rises in steam”
It’s such an unusual image.
Thanks so much, Michelle! I value your opinion very much, so knowing that you like it makes me smile. You rock, sis:)
Oh, I love it. I just do. This makes me think of summer, and how its feeling comes back the same way, every year.
Hi, Rachel. Thank you!
it’s a very spare and evocative poem, as others have said the ‘really important’ things are left out, adding mystery
Hello, Juliet. Many thanks for the good words.
as always – excellent words hung together in perfection! I liked this one so much!
Hi, Kaye. It’s good to see you. Thanks much!
great poem. It begs the question: what is time, anyway? Depth of feeling? Vagueness of memory? A swing of a metronome?
Hello, David! Thank you! I hope all is going well for you.