Three ages
1.
I never want to forget anything,
says the maiden,
never want to forget my favorite doll or the way my mother smells when
she hugs me coming back from the field,
of cut grass and sweet sweat
I never want to forget the trees I have
climbed or the scrapes on my knee
the bruises on my shins
from shimmiying up thick bark,
the smell of sap sticky on my fingers
I never want to watch my body
change, like the seasons,
blood droplets like
pomegranate seeds
marking me a woman now
2.
I never want to forget
your screaming orange harvest-moon face,
the mother says to the child,
as she kisses her and they are both covered
with blood
I never want to forget
this intense love, as you grow fed by me
exclusively; why must you forget
these moments, so meaningful to me,
your smell like summer rain, your little fingers pink lace
I never want you to go,
to disappear from my hearth
leaving cold white ashes,
white as the snow on the ground,
white as my hair when I look in the mirror one morning
3.
I cannot help but forget
says the crone,
I remember no longer;
I linger, eat spoonfulls
of mush; it tastes of memories.
I have lost a memory for each
tooth, each pearl white kiss
that fell from my lips, I can no longer recall
who I am or who I
used to be.
I want to forget, this, this end,
these weeks of bedridden
bedraggled bedside goodbyes,
abandoned tears, graceless, agony, and forgotten
days. To forget all this and remember my life.