Mnemonic 1: Dear California
by Matthew Korbel-Bowers
Fine art print on bright white, fine poly-cotton blend, matte canvas using latest generation Epson archival inks. Individually trimmed and hand stretched museum wrap over 1-1/2" deep wood stretcher bars. Includes wall hanging hardware.
MNEMONIC 1: DEAR CALIFORNIA
Words—Marissa Korbel Bowers
Design—Matthew Korbel Bowers
I remember the glow of the lake of the leaves of the vines on the hills that I lived in loved in ran my feet over held my breath for.
Dear California, how much do I love do I need do I love your gold hills rolling, 2 miles south of Oregon and I know that this table is rounding that this heart is falling and I know that I’m home. I hold my breath past the poppy and I smile and I open to the gold as it comes and it pours.
I remember the pine winter — snaps of needles against my cheek, living in a white eskimo cavern until dark, the snowlight filtered through the roof. I remember the pale blue of the snowpack, but I forget the whip of the cold.
I remember the empty fogless afternoons in the fallwarm, on the cement. I remember the way the sun turned orange, but I forget the way the trees moved.
I remember the wet cement under my belly, under the towel on the pool deck in the dry dry air. I remember the smell of the chlorine in the white cracked poolsides, but I forget the sting of it in my eyes, under water. I remember diving down for weighted rings or change. I forget how much I got.