Ice on the palm - Katarina Pejović

The memory is fragile, tender, vulnerable.

Woven from the finest threads of experiencing the moment,

trillions of such experiences now and here,

that subliminal weave passes

through the Scylla and Charybdis of time,

new experiences now and here.

The sharp rocks of the present are in constant war

with a subtle weave of memory.

They tear it, tear it, drill it, tear it apart.

And then,

through that constant dynamic of weaving and tearing that time alone,

memory becomes a strange creation,

a map of the war between then and now.

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