Forgotten
Is it simply forgotten
or not remembered?
My father coughs
through his days,
asking for answers
only his brother knows.
Some books are better
read from the end,
he says. I don’t know
what to do.
He tries to spell his name
but the letters elude him,
teetering between symbol
and thought and choice.
The chair tips over
when I lean too far back,
replacing memories
with hardwood
and a new bruise
coloring my thoughts.
This word, that one.
A face, the date.
Last Tuesday’s crumb.
The floor accepts us all.
* * *
“Forgotten” first appeared in ISACOUSTIC* in January 2018.
I thoroughly enjoy your words during the poem, they definitely resonated with with my forgetfulness, and with the finale two lines, you stunningly nailed it !!
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Thank you, Ivor.
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Excellent.
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Thanks, Leslie.
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I really like “The floor accepts us all”.
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The floor has, at times, demanded my presence…
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As it does us all. And some day we must fall for good, but until then we must continue to rise.
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The end of life is so fraught with what is both missing and what is there.
I think your father is right about the books, though. (K)
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Backwards or forward – perspective is everything!
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Reading books from the end spoils the fun and suspense.
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To some, suspense doesn’t matter, provided the journey is interesting. 🙂
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Exactly depending on the countless times you’ve read other novels.
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When the writing is good, knowing a book’s ending doesn’t lessen my enjoyment.
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Yeah, that’s true…. Right on point
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