Or not.

Regardless, here ya go:

Intermittent Childhood Floats on Lily-of-the-Valley Fumes

Last night, tonight, everysinglenight,

I slip in the bedroom door,

and the scent curls around me,

flicking my nose, my forebrain.

Stirrings shift and purr,

youth leaps from age 3 to 8

no memories in between,

then slides again from 8 to 14.

Black holes strain to fill with red,

and blue and green and indigo,

Yellow.

Rainbows just out of reach.

They exist as a tease,

full frontal remembrance

only on a need to know basis.

Trust when I say, "I don’t need to know".

~Pamela V Jones ©2011

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