My Museum

This week's poem, as always, with a touch of Aphantasia.

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My museum of memories 
presents me with a true canvas
for every sight I’ve ever seen,
their frames all crowded, some askew,
beneath small, incandescent lamps.

Polka dots of pools of brilliance,
luminous speckles on dark walls,
form and color to tantalize,
from the far side of hollow rooms.

I approach on slow timid feet
and they darken like negatives,
obscured behind thin clouds of shade.
Until, when I get close enough,
the light remains, perhaps the frame.

I am allowed to read aloud
vague captions, of not many words.

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Thank you for reading. Here’s another poem.

My initial post has more about Aphantasia. Have a look, and the poems might make a different kind of sense.

Glimpses at the Dark

Please share this with any aphants you might have in your life. I am highly curious to know if any of this resonates with others whose mind’s eyes are dark.

—Alex

Glimpses at the Dark can be delivered every week.