all my family does is forget
On the last day I can remember it,
I will take my sisters' hands and I will
say listen, I have so much to tell you:
I am thankful for memory
for every soft crevice
of my collapsing
brain.
Purple eyes
closed and drifting
out into the field behind
our childhood home.
Rubbed ragged
by blue jeans pulled
over icicle legs,
all of us, long hair, baby
bangs and wanting the great
expanse of Cowbone Creek
to curl into our arms, too.
Do you remember the way
the haybales on Claribel's
farm rolled so soft when
the calves nudged them?
How we wished
we too, could make
such gentle lines, waving
our limbs like threshers
against the grass?
Do you remember
the ticks wedged
into our socks?
When I went down in the ditch
running
from the old dead tree?
Do you remember the way I dropped?
Tell me again.
Take me outside and
tell me again, how pretty
I fell.
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