It slices unexpectedly through a mundane task.
Or a moment in the space between movements.
Or a quiet place of reflective thought.
Or by an occurrence of sudden similarity.
A Disturbing Memory
Stark and naked
Standing there, staring at you.
It is normally latched away
In a safe, dark box
In a corner of the mind used for such things.
It is better left there,
Than to wreak fussy havoc upon the present.
After the initial shock of its’ undesired appearance,
You eye it suspiciously
And fight against the familiar twist of pain it exerts
Out of place and time.
You sigh inwardly before beginning the struggle of wrestling it back into its’ box
In the dark corner
To be awakened occasionally by dreams
Has no business being here now.
It does not go away willingly.
It flirts with the edges of your activities
Like a child that has been sent back to bed too many times.
Eventually, it will go back to sleep
With the others.
And you will continue to continue.