The biggest lie I tell myself
is that I don't need to
write it down. Memory, my
trusty old retriever, will fetch
every detail, every thought,
like a newspaper tossed
onto the lawn at dawn.
But the truth is my memory
is a mischievous cat,
slipping under furniture,
swatting at loose threads
of conversations, batting
away the names of books
I meant to read someday.
Even now, I can sense
it curling up in a sunny
corner of my brain, purring
contentedly while I search
for the name of that movie
we watched last spring,
the one with the actor
whose face I can picture,
clear as this morning light
scattering across the kitchen
table where I sit, pen poised
to scribble reminders, so I won't
forget like the time I swore
I’d call my mother back.
But no, I trust myself to
remember, to hold onto
fragments of days like a
favorite sweater, which I
always seem to lose in
the back of a closet, or
leave on the bus seat.
So here I am again,
promising myself that,
next time, I'll write it down,
but the paper remains blank,
awaiting words like declarations
that slip through my fingers,
sand trailing into oblivion.
-
Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: February 2nd, 2025 05:12
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 18
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
Offline)
Comments4
Very nice poem. Nice because you can feel it.
Familiar to most of us. Just last week I went to the store to get one item Ireturned with everything else but. A wonderful write
I have trouble even catching my thoughts.
Welcome to the club. It looks as though the membership is high. I’ll keep that pen and paper handy. Nothing wrong with your poetry. Always composed well and to a high standard. I have to write shopping lists these days. Fine writing.
Thanks Cassie at least I remembered to thank you for your feedback ☺️
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