The act of forgetting is a slow one.
So much sneaks back in.
The fallen feather of a
belted kingfisher. The smell of
pepperoni pizza. The manner in which
a girl in the street quickly says hello and
then tucks her chin into her
Remnants of debris.
I stumble on their tangled bits.
Forgetting to remember to
forget is a fascinating,
formidable thing. Each
memory opening always