remembrance flows right through me.
An imagined current
Of realistic, sharp jolts.
The past runs through an enclosed wire.
By choice, my own desire
I stick my fingers into the outlet
And play with searing fire.
I connect my brain to the reruns of life.
Programs of the past illuminate the blank screen.
At times I hold the remote,
To switch the channels of the mind.
Blurry images focus
Into raw emotion.
But at times,
Memory clicks on automatically.
The viewer can no longer sit, detached.
The power of reminder revives
The once-thought dead screen.
It turns on repressed pictures
I never cared to see.
Clarity puts on a new show —
Dotted images appear static
Imagined so real
They cut sharper than any knife.
When I try to pull the plug,
Colorful pain flickers into view.
The more I fight it,
The more I see you.
TELEVISION MEMORIES BY AMI WATANABE