for R. A. M
What if you woke up tomorrow
and I wasn’t there
If your story book memory
erased me
Poof…I’ve vanished into thick black air
If you struggled to tap into
all the things we used to do
If the heat of our passion
disappeared
Your eager brown eyes
that squint at sides
could no longer see me
a heavy cloud in your cracked head
You try recall
but blank shadows cover all
the slate has been wiped clean
But my morning of scrambled eggs, bacon and ham
cooked up something old
it evokes
what we once spoke
the wedding for us,
that belong to only me
of a future with a snotty nose baby
that memory is only mine
I pray that it rains back in the crack
and it will
but only with time
I’m glued in thoughts of what used to be
and by no means
do you remember me
When you reach out your tired hand
you knocked mine aside
you can’t remember
I was the love of your life
The name off your flesh pink lips
was not mine
and my face was the last to come to mind
My name is of a blurry stranger
you’ve forgotten me,
So
although
Random thoughts clutter
Access your
Memory of me.
© copyright Tia L. Clarke 2007
1 comment:
oh this poem contemplates or imagines amnesia, which might result from concussion.
Amazing coincidence; listening this morning, to a tape recording I'd heard several times before, of poems by W.H. Auden, I heard: "The crack in the cup widens, a lane to the land of the dead."
I might be paraphrasing or rewriting him, but isn't that splendid?
Here, tlc, you too evoke crack or cracked.
What of these tropes, these archetypes, connecting in our lives, our imaginations and in our heads?
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