From the first time I laid eyes on them I’ve loved the paintings of Monet.

I love the subjects, love the impressions and the way the colors interplay.


I’ve also loved da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, I like to linger with her awhile

And enjoy the details of that landscape and the elusiveness of her smile.


I think memory is like these paintings for when a moment does unveil

It’s brushed upon our mind’s canvas, like a da Vinci, in detail.


Yet over time our memories seems to blend a little everyday

Until, when we grow older, we remember in Monet.


The last three days I’ve dipped into my memory, it felt great to be among

The memories of our children when life was simpler and they were young.


But as I discussed these poems with Deborah, although she didn’t want to berate

She informed me my memory was lacking...that I didn’t have my facts straight.


What building were Bryan and I in at Florida State? My memory is insecure.

Did we drink Gatorade, I think it was Gatorade but I do not know for sure.


Was Rit dye the kind that Ali used?  At one time I’m sure I knew.

And was it Ali or her friend Chrissy whose hair was colored blue?


Was it Ryan’s baseball card or hot wheels collection... Hmmm toy cars or baseball stats,

You think I would remember a small detail like that!


Luckily with Deborah’s help, like two birds of a feather

We sorted through our memories and pieced the facts together.


Initially I remembered those moments as they did first appear

But slowly as time intervened the details became less clear.


As I look back I shouldn’t be surprised at how these memories converge

Why da Vinci memories tend to fade and Monet’s tend to emerge.


Perhaps the moments of our life are meant, as we live our days,

To dissolve into an impression, to fade into a haze.


Perhaps it is this blending that makes these memories last

And we are left to find small details in our impressions of the past.


Perhaps we are meant to look back and smile at the impressions that we see


For is that not the nature of art...and the beauty of memory.

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