serve medicinal gratitude mind triggers blow control shoot practice treasure you stories
Poets and storytellers invited us to use the number 10.
The Repository
“Ah, jar 10!”
He blows off the dust, opens it and inhales—
“Eight years old, walking home from school,
Aniseed balls, 4 for a penny!
Oh, and look, jar 23, my sixth birthday party!
So many balloons! And sticky children!
◊
He is rummaging through treasures,
Each triggering echoes in his mind,
Unveiling the stories of his life.
The magic of the bottles—
The purpose that they serve—
Is beyond his control.
No anticipation. No practice. No warning.
He and you are transported involuntarily
To distant places, first loves, past events.
Some smell medicinal, some smell sweet,
Some evoke gratitude, others regret,
Some leave you wallowing and teary,
Others shoot you to the stars.
But all have meaning.
◊
“Look at that, Jar 6: Granny’s fruitcake!”
Jar 3 smells of his mother, warm and embracing.
“And jar 36, that sweaty aftermath of sports day!
Oh no! Not jar 17, that’s tripe in white sauce!”
Some memories are best forgotten.
He shuts the jar quickly.
◊
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