What if the things forgotten
Are the incidents — dark moments
That bind our sunrises to pain,
Inscribed in the silent lines on brow and cheek
That isolate a lonely, hard heart…
And we are instead
Thrown back to 12 —
And the attempt at
Riding the cow
In the summer sun;
Moments of joy —
Long since suppressed —
Memorialized into existence again.
The horror of the moment
When she said
I don’t want to see you again — gone.
Promising solace from the world’s long sorrows.