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Forgetfulness by Francis Fernandes

Francis Fernandes | Jul 17th, 2020 | poetry | No Comments

Poem

She said, Do not remember
me, so here I am again
in the place I know
so well, a curse for my lover
I must be, but this place
hardly notices how
it disagrees with me,
mocks my ability,
my reason to serve,
to learn like the ambitious
apprentice, the wily scavenger
I am, who hasn’t come
to terms with what is here
and what is there,
for sometimes it’s hard
to tell, in the swell
of the moment, when
not exactly in possession
of all of my senses
but oh so aware
of how much her absence
distorts my perceptions,
throws me off course
and wrecks time’s flow
until the options seem countless,
the strangers so numerous,
and her name on their lips
sends me spinning like
a moon out of orbit,
rushing past the brink
of our little universe,
moving without the benefit
of hardware, like the ones
they loaded Voyager 1
and Voyager 2 with:
no Rite of Spring
or Johnny B. Goode,
no fractions or decimals
or images of breast-fed
children, no palm-studded
island surrounded by green,
no Dark Was the Night
Cold Was the Ground,
no Symphony in C minor
engraved in gold;
and so the dust of her picture
and even her voice
may light up the night
ever so briefly,
but like sparks in the air
or perishing fireflies
slowly but surely
sputter and fade,
ending up
only god
knows
where.

Poet Bio

Francis Fernandes grew up in the US and Canada. He studied in Montréal and has a degree in Mathematics. Somewhere along the way, he discovered that poetry counts, too. Currently, he lives in Germany, where he writes and teaches. His writing has appeared or is forthcoming in various journals including What Rough Beast, Third Wednesday, (Ex)cite, Montréal Writes.

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