the crackle of firewood

There are memories
floating in the air,
there are memories
soaked in the soil.
 
Memories
that time forgot,
stubbornly etched
in the hazy layers of the mind.
They come back
as lies
spat by sharp tongues,
as scars
fading away on yesterday’s skin,
as false comfort
in a faraway hearth.
 
They come back
knocking,
to mock at our ugliness,
to strip us to our bone and dust,
to remind us we are human
after all.