We found her with a smile on her face, a booklet clutched in her hands, one finger stiff from death but looking as if it still lovingly stroked the words of a poem:
Out of Sight, Out of My Mind
The date is
and I wonder why I bother to write the date down.
Wondering doesn't matter,
the date won't change when these words were written
because the importance of the date wanes with the passage of time,
time I didn't think I'd have,
time I've wasted doing nothing but counting the days,
the years,
the tortuous minutes...
"Into The Ocean" by Blue October
plays on the digital music channel on television,
supplying a beat by a band I've never heard of.
I met you once some years ago
and now I can't remember when,
the only memory that stabs me in the eye
sees me greeting wedding goers on the steps
of Rogersville Presbyterian Church.
My wedding (or rather, my wife's)
and you a bridesmaid (or rather, a bridesmatron),
No hint of anything else that mattered that day.
And yet...
Beauty and the eye of the beholder call me forth to review that day
like a bullfighter to the ring,
The locks of your hair like the red cape held by a toreador,
causing my blood to boil and me wanting to charge, but...
My horns turn and turn away,
not to look at you that day.
Seasons pass, twenty-one or twenty-two --
only now, I am past the age you were that day;
what do we know
(what can we know)
if what was not will be
(or cannot).
– for F.G.
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