Three ages

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

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

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.