Thirteen ways of Looking at a Memoir

The color of her eyes, the shape of his smile, the smell of fresh known hay, the call of kildeer on the beach. These I remember.
Shoeboxes under the bed. in the closet.
They threaten to take over the entire house
Like snapping on a pan of water I can glide over the high point of my life by just closing my eyes.
The story she poured onto the paper should have been a reflection,
a remembrance, a revisiting- but it was not. Instead it was her revenge.
The taking back of what she had never intended to lose. She was willing
to burn herself down as well, if this story would also take down
those she felt were at fault.
Reflecting, reflecting in what manner
reflecting of sadness or hapiness.