The Edge of Remembering
Someone once asked me what it was like
to lose my mind; I kid you not, those were
her exact words. She wasn’t unkind, just
curious.
Someone once asked me what it was like
to lose my mind; I kid you not, those were
her exact words. She wasn’t unkind, just
curious.
This house is not a secure redoubt.
The walls are breached, and I hear the
Scrambling rhythm of my rebuilt heart.
So many are attuned to sharps and flats,
timbre, time signatures, and dynamics,
arpeggios, thirds, fifths, and sevenths
Handsome and flawless, young, and strong
The one who knew my tunes by heart—
The one who always played my song—
Your touch would break my life apart
Please return this beached log
loaded with gooseneck barnacles,
back to the sea. See
their writhing necks and fern-like
Sun lights the morning
with mild warmth when I gather the dogs
and go outside to feed the chickens.
Fava plants open blossoms like butterflies,
pink and white with velvet black tongues
offering a faint lilac scent when I bend close.
A wine glass sinks, tolling,
an undersea village bell
The moon had us hoodwinked,
escaping through the branches,
to sprout take root
grow through many seasons
like a human learning how to be –
the many blows absorbed
the reaching for the sky
I believe you’re still asleep
in the next room. Soon you will
shake me awake to deliver
the news to neighbors.