Memory

Memory One day, you will look down at your feetbare toenails, scars and bunions,grey with the memories ofwalking this way and that— and hear your voice telling storiesof all that has happened,and giving advice to the onesone step behind. And suddenly, you will realizethat the woman you areis not the woman you thought you were—or the woman you knew. No—the woman you are lives in this moment,on this hardwood floor with these dirty feet,telling stories and giving advicefrom all she has learned. She is not the woman who packed her bags,she is not the woman teaching school,she is not the woman lost and afraidor the woman grieving in the dark. The woman you are lives here. And you will suddenly realize that in many ways,you have been living a memory of who you were—you have been living out the past in the body of now. And you will stop—and take a breath. And notice who you really are,shocked to find your own reflectionin the glimpse of the bare-toenaileddirty feet walking onthe wooden floor.