Things I Can’t Forget

(thoughts worried as a mother falls herself asleep)

I can’t forget your name. I can’t forget the feel of you, as though living under my skin is the safest place for you.

Can I call you by your afterthoughts? The things that rearrange themselves despite the efforts of all the centipede legs sticking them together. Can I hear the whispers of the words on your lips, just before they leave you, just before the universe eats them up and spits them to the wind.

The things I can’t forget are which way my mind whirls when I can’t eat the soup you made for me. The shift from one foot to the next, weight lifted, weight lost, gained, and entered into a factual analysis of who I am to be.

The things I can’t forget are the way my teeth ache from the sourness of life lived in the bated breathe of the waiting room. The tears that stain your cheeks from disappointment over the tone of my voice grating the softness of your mood. The bloom of anger upon your cheeks.

The things I can’t forget are eating me up and making me whole into a wishfulness of entropy coming together under the bigger sky than mine. We can all live happily ever after if you live at all. We all fall down sometimes, sometimes it’s hard for all of us. I can’t forget seeing your beautiful everything on the page before me, drawn into hugs of reminders. Pencil marks on my soul.

Best not forget.