By Iona
Forgetfulness
Forgetfulness is the thing that happens
Often.
It takes over
Disguised as an acquaintance from a long time ago.
It shrinks
The being
Into an image of an image
A copy without an original.
In so many words
i’ve been told
That nothing is left behind.
But then why does this thought or that
This upset
That uncomfortable laughter
This tone of voice
Bubble up at the worst possible time?
Everything remains
While everything goes
In a way it goes
In another it stays
An impression.
Seeds of the past
Spring as the present.
If only i knew how not to forget
That they are not real.
