“I forgot a carapace,
then its splitting”
I
forgot a coil that previously bowed without purpose—it began to be lubricated
for an intent to revise.
I
forgot a bolt of cream linen turning crimson along the edges touching the
floor.
I
forgot a carapace, then its splitting.
I
forgot the silvery thrum among treetops during perpetual autumns.
I
forgot anthologies of glass.
I
forgot the difference between desires for father and fodder.
I
forgot questions thickening as the sun moved alongside the moon to preserve the
possibility of synchronous precisions against skeptics who surfaced to avoid
commitment.
I
forgot the seeking that began without knowing whether one was beginning to
stink or sing.
I
forgot the clutter of broken objects manifesting affordable treasures when one
owns nothing, or owns only dilemmas over belonging.
I
forgot the aftermaths from dilemmas of belonging.
I
forgot algebra failing to succor when relationships were inevitably
destabilized by indigenous cell memory.
I
forgot broken glass surfacing my first conception of Beauty from the lovely wink of a glass sliver, belying edges and
their sharpness.
I
forgot a grandmother who threw empty bottles at a toddler’s face.
I
forgot staring at a photograph of a baby with belly larger than head and later
arguing with my math teacher, “Two negatives do not equal a positive!”
I
forgot the white light, white roses, white silk, white lace and white pearls
that adorned my wedding—instead I remember this happy day included the whisper,
“Mama, glass is easily broken …”
I
forgot the original human born only because bamboo was split.
I
forgot the lucidity of ancient mountains.
I
forgot receiving a scar on my cheek while an emerald mountain wept.
I
forgot no one else noticing the diminishing moon’s tiptoe across the night sky.
I
forgot pausing to scratch with a missing finger.
I
forgot stuffing doves into burlap bags.
I
forgot an ascetic’s illusion of ecstasy will always be illusion due to its
condition precedent: a suffering so unmitigated it hollowed non-survivors from
children to earthworms.
I
forgot a “Mom” and “Dad” bringing me to a turquoise house cheered by kittens
and where I learned meals will be finished and still there will be food for the
next.
I
forgot immersing myself in a sea until, chin just topping salty water, my head
became attached to the entire planet.
I
forgot imagination cannot alchemize air into protein.
I
forgot other boys like Samuel and Elwin whose bones became transparent.
© Eileen Tabios
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