How generous forgetting is!
It opens eyes to new walls every day,
scrubs them white of yesterday’s thoughts,
blurs sunrise into sunset, daylight into mist.
Opens windows to let no one see anything of what is,
only what was, and what was dreamed of,
but mostly what was tucked away
in memory’s dust-covered corners.
It gives nothing to attend to, only needs attending to.
Arranges for the gentlest attendees,
red-eyed from sleepless devotion,
carrying basins, soft cloths, filled pots
to those who don’t recall them,
anticipating hunger before it settles in,
absorbing frustration, resentment
for barging in and assuming they knew better.
Forgetting forgives them.
It allows the most effective contact:
hands wiping skin,
spoons lifted to lips,
clothes on for the day.
Forgetting can be clumsy.
Drops names and faces at times,
spilling out love.
Forgetting reserves the front seat
to watch the world’s events unfold:
outside the window,
inside the mind,
between the walls.
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