Has the age of forgetting just begun?
I’m glad to forget some things but others
I want to hold on to as if they’ve begun,
as if they’re new, yet familiar, like dawn.
Here comes the age of where-has-it-all-gone,
when I wonder what may have been before:
the color of someone’s eyes, someone who
lived nearby, someone whose name I once knew,
the certain way a dark cloud haunts the sky.
But like the cloud, they’re wisps and mist and last
only long enough to become heavy,
to fall into unknowing. Sweet and small.
I grasp at them. I know they will be missed,
as memory, like soft rain, starts to fall.
— Paul Jones
Paul Jones is the author of Something Wonderful.