My Earliest Memory
I was in a museum. I suppose there were many displays of animals mounted or posed in
their realistic forms to show them as they appeared in their natural environment. However, I
recall only one display. It is the one that has stayed forever emblazoned on my young
impressionistic mind. There in front of me they stood, in all their bloody glory: two wild
animals. One (I cannot recall now what animal it was, only that it had hold of its victim’s
throat.) Perhaps it was a wolf; maybe a wild boor. What matters most is that it was clearly
the aggressor and it was the victor over the other animal in its natural habitat. The other, I
am sure, was a deer, a poor innocent deer. Though its eye sockets were now filled with dark
marbles, I could imagine in those eyes, terror beyond words. Whoever had put together this
display had done a most realistic job. Heavy blood matted the neck of the deer and flowed
down its body. Blood also gushed forth from the attacking beast’s mouth. I do not know what
thoughts were running through my mind as I beheld this scene. I only remember standing
there utterly transfixed.
Years later, I told my mother that my earliest childhood memory had been of two animals
posed in struggle at a museum. So much time had passed, I was not even sure if maybe it
had not been just a dream. My mother confirmed for me that I had indeed witnessed it and
that it took place when I was around three years old. She then told how I had stood in front
of the display for many minutes, perhaps fifteen, just staring and staring at it. She said that
she and my dad could not tear me away from it, and they finally had to drag me away. Why
that is my first memory I do not know. Perhaps because it was my first visual impression of
violence. I wish I could remember what went through my mind as I gazed on it. Later in life,
I was to witness acts of violence in the “real world” which greatly disturbed me, particularly
those acts of cruelty involving man against man. However, I am someone who is able to step
outside myself and view things in an analytical and detached way. I think this makes me
sometimes misread by the "too feeling crowd." Furthermore, I always find myself strangely
titillated by scenes of the macabre in horror movies. I do not enjoy gore. But I very much
enjoy a good psychological thriller. Just something about me. I don’t know what it means.
And I have no room to explore it here!
For the Contest of Leighann Anderson:
Sea of Words
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment