Selling memories for a dollar here, a dollar there.
Shedding non-contiguous layers that adhered themselves to my subjectivity.
Objects of fondness,
Objects of darkness,
Of beauty, of pain,
Of excess, of childishness.
All of days gone by.
My objective history laid out on poinsettia print without sequence, without the cut of time's knife slicing the past into dates, places, people,
Nicely categorized for easy mental reference.
A dollar here, a dollar there as I watch physical parts of my narrative history incite the desire of passerbys who know not of its place within my life.
The item exchanges hands and a new story begun.
I am glad to see some go as easy and cheaply as they do,
Others cause me to hesitate as a rush of images flood my mind.
A summer in England, a trip to Paris, a visit to the Laurentian mountains all embodied into a few items of representation.
In losing objects I have not lost my past ,
I have lost weight,
Mentally and physically,
As the heaviness of past is replaced with the lightness of future.
A dollar here, a dollar there is all they are worth in the end.
