30 Poems: Day eight


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An old theatre program I recently found in the back of a cupboard. I have many of them: programs, that is, not cupboards. Tangible prompts to memory, which is the subject of today’s, humble offering. I speak of the last time I decided I was “in love”. Not the smartest decision I’ve ever made, as it turns out. But onwards and upwards.

And yes, I did see the original West End production of Les Mis.

And yes, it does have something to do with the man this poem was written about.

MNEMONICS

One day I shall forget.

Forget how his eyes expressed

yearning, regret, fear, excitement.

One day I will recall them

as facial features.

Struggle to remember if they

were blue or green.

 

I shall, one day, forget

how it felt to be held by him.

Encasing me as if it

were life itself, and he,

teetering on the verge of mortality.

It shall be brought to mind as

another hug.

 

And one day, too, I shall forget

the mellifluous silence

of his presence.

The ear-piercing cacophony

of his absence.

I shall vaguely recollect:

he was here; he was there.

 

And soon I shall forget

How we would talk and screech and cackle

as if it would never stop.

One day, my memory will be

that someone made me laugh once.

 

One day I shall forget

to think about him.

I will bemoan my amnesia.

 

And then the healing will begin.

 

 

 

 

 

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