Fluttering Memories by Marilyn Duarte

                          Ffion Atkinson CC



Fluttering Memories


The mascara-smudged eyes of garden pansies 
resemble mine after sleepless nights when I’d lick
salt off the back of my fist, pour
tequila down my throat, and slam down
slippery shot glasses, in triumph.

Years when I was a stranger to myself, my only escape
from a life sentence I hadn’t committed a crime for
but someone else had.
I wonder what he told himself, if anything.
My fragmented childhood memories never enough proof
for more than my own imprisonment.

In the front garden of his semi-detached house, flower stems
were nestled deep in the dirt. From his spot in the shade,
he must have watched their tiny bodies swaying in the breeze;
their features fluttering in the wind, oblivious to his peering eyes,
to his plans to pluck them from their safety,
caress them until they wilted.

Secrets weighed heavily on me: my denial claimed
I was more than fine, like pansies which refuse to stop
dancing despite being shackled.
Moments of hazy reprieve proved futile, served only to temporarily
camouflage the fact that my freedom was an illusion.
A release date never granted.

​

Marilyn holds an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Tampa’s low-residency program and is currently a Staff Writer at Longleaf Review, a Creative Nonfiction Contributing Editor at Barren Magazine, and an Assistant Creative Nonfiction Editor at Pithead Chapel. Her work has appeared in The Tishman Review, (mac)ro(mic), Ellipsis Zine, Assay: A Journal of Nonfiction Studies, and elsewhere. Originally from Toronto, she now divides her time between Canada and Portugal. You can find her at www.marilynduartewriter.com and on Twitter @MareDuarte28.

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