Date month year

You poured the water right out

of that cup without a second thought.

Two eyes search through page after page

of photographs

you have made

and feel the permanence in the texture of each.

Some things don’t last;

I will never recall what happened

on the twenty-fourth of March, 1998,

nor do you have my memory

of one night at Edgware train station.

Some things are bound under the needle of a tattooist

or captured as winks of light by a camera

because we are afraid that they

will one day

fade. But I will write out in imaginary ink

over every surface my eyes see

that which you have already forgotten.

Reviews

[Seshat Nidaba]

This felt like a painting to me, surrealism, capturing a moment. The title was excellent. The tone was endearing.