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.

4 thoughts on “Forgotten

  1. As my brain “matures”, I get frustrated with waiting for recall to materialize … I’ve learned not to conclude I’ve “forgotten” … more a case of “misplaced” … given time (less than an hour usually, a few days sometimes) the wires upstairs link up and suddenly I say aloud the elusive name. It does seem like a chair tipping backwards … a bit of a thump on the noggin … an annoying game of sorts.


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