03 November 2017

Postcard 106

Today the old blind woman said cherish your sight before it goes.
Today the frightened man on the radio told the interviewer he recorded every moment of his child's life.
Today the young man slowly going deaf is trying to capture moments in songs.
I did not tell the old woman No, now cherish your ears and your fingertips.
The interviewer did not point to that father's navel and laugh.
Nobody suggested the young man nurture a taste for madeleines.
Stop this madness, cease!
Remember every lesson learned at precisely after the time of its use.
Today I was asked to consider my early relationship to my mother, going way back.
There is no telling of relationship to the fluid in which you swim. Swim and cease.
I remember, I remember only broken things:
the taste that is tied to no real thing,
the flagrant song picking up any other melody,
the blankness where once was tug in womb growing cool.
Can you recall the yearning? Can you recall the pain?
Isn't this life desire forever on the cusp of now,
and memory just a slowing down of death

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