Perhaps in the space between my cells
there is room for memories
that my brain cannot hold on to
as they slip, slip, slip away
through corroded passageways and
dark recesses of that dense grey matter
down my brain stem, my spine
leaking out through blood vessels
nerves and muscle tissues and sinews and

​

settling 

​

between the building blocks
of my frail, feeble body
because my brain cannot hold on.

 

Perhaps in the space between my lives
there is room for memories
that the body I leave behind cannot hold
slipping from cold fingers, empty passages
icy veins and unresponsive organs
pooling as my blood would pool, cools,
congeals into a mass of something neither
blood nor memory
but
recognizable in its alien nature.

Perhaps the space between cells
between times, between lives
are all the same
nothing but a holding place
a waiting place
to linger on those precious things
that my brain could not hold on to.