“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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