Analyzed Memory Cascade
29a
The papers are folded everywhere
The books have been given to Goodwill or sold
The smashed copy of The Hours is in a dump somewhere
The copy you stepped on twice
The lie you tell yourself is a victim’s story not a survivor’s
The story is inconstant and vague
The one where you rationalize the cat or the money
The one where you didn’t do anything wrong
29b
I eat the same things every day:
a socket of air, a bruise, and a pierced ear.
The shame of it drags me. It takes me.
It makes me feel all the ephemeral things
like the washing of dishes, or the skin-care
regimen that stops the wounds, or the wound
care dressings, or the washing of hands.
The water faucet drips into the naked night
and the seam where the spigot meets the pipe
is frayed, sending water everywhere.
30b
outside in the garden a whole world
the tree my eye stretches toward it flat globes of Clementine
Satsuma smiley I care less about names now
more about the peel removed
have you eaten a soft apple? a bruised pear?
that soft middle that’s dead and sweet
you peeled yourself for me when you and but
I’d eat you, still
because the sop of spoiled fruit is its own lesson
about memory and and
29a
The papers are folded everywhere
The books have been given to Goodwill or sold
The smashed copy of The Hours is in a dump somewhere
The copy you stepped on twice
The lie you tell yourself is a victim’s story not a survivor’s
The story is inconstant and vague
The one where you rationalize the cat or the money
The one where you didn’t do anything wrong
29b
I eat the same things every day:
a socket of air, a bruise, and a pierced ear.
The shame of it drags me. It takes me.
It makes me feel all the ephemeral things
like the washing of dishes, or the skin-care
regimen that stops the wounds, or the wound
care dressings, or the washing of hands.
The water faucet drips into the naked night
and the seam where the spigot meets the pipe
is frayed, sending water everywhere.
30b
outside in the garden a whole world
the tree my eye stretches toward it flat globes of Clementine
Satsuma smiley I care less about names now
more about the peel removed
have you eaten a soft apple? a bruised pear?
that soft middle that’s dead and sweet
you peeled yourself for me when you and but
I’d eat you, still
because the sop of spoiled fruit is its own lesson
about memory and and