I have forgotten what names we gave
the toys that we owned
when out of desperate idleness, we decided to.
Vaguely, though, I still can recall how it felt
when we did.
A short glance at these toys
make me wonder
if you have forgotten about me, too.
It doesn't matter, I suppose,
since it never really mattered
if you ever remembered me
at all.
I, remembering you,
while forgetting all the seemingly
important details
puts into question
the value of
names,
dates,
places.
My sweater that you wore
(It seemed very important before),
yes, you took a picture.
Where is it now?
(It was I who lost it.)
I remember the fun that we had
when I sang a song with you
and looked stupid
without giving a damn
..but when I tried to sing
that same song by myself,
it felt like I must have missed
a line or two.
From a page that we filled with words,
I stare at one mushy phrase
and wonder if it was I who wrote that,
or if it was you.
Who thought what?
Is this another case of a memory gap,
or a credible proof that
we don't need all this fuddle?
I tried to draw your face
and scratched my head in dismay
when I failed in an attempt
to accurately place a mole.
I think I have forgotten a little about you.
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