Gupta-Carlson poems

Narrative non-fiction is my genre. Poetry is my play.

Sunday, April 27, 2014

Monsters

Memory is our biggest monster.
What we imagine our stories to be like
is rarely real.

We take one small shard of reality
and turn it into glass.
Before we know it,
we've cut ourselves on the pain
of mis-remembering the past.
Posted by Himanee Gupta-Carlson at 7:49 PM
Email ThisBlogThis!Share to XShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest

No comments:

Post a Comment

Newer Post Older Post Home
Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

Blog Archive

  • ►  2016 (15)
    • ►  April (15)
  • ►  2015 (29)
    • ►  April (29)
  • ▼  2014 (33)
    • ▼  April (32)
      • Quitting Time
      • Where Is The Calm In Your Life?
      • The seed
      • Settled
      • Monsters
      • Spring planting
      • Pecking orders
      • Tell It To The Sourdough
      • Laundering
      • Possibilities in pessimism
      • Basic writing
      • Easter 2014
      • Blue
      • Waiting for the storm
      • Hello Kitty
      • Winter's warriors
      • When you're ready to retire
      • If I were 22
      • Animals of the Adirondacks
      • New York moments
      • The revolution will not be televised
      • Telos
      • Shelters
      • Bricks
      • Head over heels
      • Night Poem
      • Mundane discoveries
      • Rootedness
      • Luna
      • Was it real?
      • Routes to roots
      • Taken in
    • ►  March (1)
  • ►  2013 (31)
    • ►  April (31)

About Me

Himanee Gupta-Carlson
View my complete profile
Ethereal theme. Powered by Blogger.