I.     Forgetting

​

I don’t remember

 the way things were

but sometimes,

I can taste them—

in star shaped noodles, and strawberries, and shortbread cookies.

I can hear whispers—

in birds singing, and dancing, and my sisters’ laugh.

I wanted to be

a good grown-up

        who remembered—

but I feel the forgetting.

I am terrified

of getting it wrong.

Or what if I am actually a girl

standing on stilts in a trench coat.

What if they know

that I am not all I pretend to be?

all I ever wanted—

            was to be a good grown-up.

​

I.    remembering

​

and just like that

I wasn’t pretending anymore—

The stilts turned to flesh and bone

the trench coat no longer drags

and I am not a girl

pretending to be a grown-up

Now—

it is time to remember.