The Perversity of Forgetting
why pain itself is much simpler to forget than painful memories
Because such memories love openings & are remarkably capable of compression,
intruding through the smallest cracks, worm-holes, skin-pores.
Because their skins are covered with a sticky residue like figs or the honeyed
sheaves of baklava.
In their palaces, unlike the great Palaces of Memory so esteemed by the Greeks, in
their palaces the windows are never shut, the doors never
Because they prefer slopes to plateaus & thus always roll back down even if
haul them to the mind's higher elevations.
Because they are linked with the antipodes of death & birth, especially the
The dead forget every place they've lived or visited, the newborn only the womb &
perhaps the remote gush of a fountain.
They prefer the blooming landscape of a child, whose thick groves of flowers
more conducive to hiding than the relatively sparse woodlands of the more mature.
Like plucked hair, weeds, & cancer cells, they tend to grow back, given
& stubborn tenacity of their roots.
Similarly, they are close kin of shed body-fat.
The biochemistry of their stains renders them impossible to remove completely
unless one uses lethal detergents.
In their own way they are friendly, so much so that their hosts might not only invite
them inside but offer food & drink long past midnight, swapping
reminiscencesheard any good ones lately& amusing moments. For they are,
after all, well-known as family.