Amnesia

Photo by Gaelle Marcel via Unsplash

::

Amnesia

:
1.

We’re alone on the brink
of this tabletop.
…………We rub air
between our palms, sweat
…………between our bellies.
……………………Our voices

drop like ripe fruit.

In the span of an evening, we lose
two former ideas and a half-
acquaintance.

You dine on fragments of scrolls
clinging to my skin.
………………………………..A second
coming of sorts. A baptism
…………by flaying.

2.

This is the history of grief.
I took it from the mouths
…………of children, stripped
its carcass of words,
…………swallowed it
……………………whole.

Perhaps the light could tell you.
It split at the seam, ripe
…………with exhaustion.

There’s so much you don’t
know yet.       How the blade
…………was a mere
……………………extension of my wrist.
How not even a hand,
…………had there been one,
could have staunched all that
……………………brackish fear.

3.

There’s a credible patch
of sun on the floor.
…………Its name is one
syllable.
…………So much depends on whose
……………………spring

we forget to administer
…………to the sick.

Another word for this
…………is fall. The ground
is uneven; our footprints
…………crumble
……………………between the cracks.

Fear particles waiting for meaning.

And now, we’ve forgotten
…………how to swim. Last night
the panic button glowed
……………………with the face
of a cherubic Lenin.

Today, it’s illegible,
…………like a pulse.

:

First published in The American Journal of Poetry, Volume Six, January 1, 2019

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