All that's Left.
A Poem of Forgetting.
By Judy Walker Published 2 years ago • Updated 2 years ago • 1 min read
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Photo by Sinitta Leunen on Unsplash
I sit, pencil poised, waiting for the
muse to perch on my shoulder.
I want to write about something important,
like forgetting and remembering,
but all that comes is the
silence of one a.m.
I wish I remembered being born,
floating in the amniotic fluid,
seeing only dark. Instead,
I remember the way you
smiled at me and that,
I’d rather forget.
You didn’t say why
you stopped loving me and
I didn’t ask. Now you stare at me
from a photograph, your
chin on my shoulder,
peering at the camera and
all that’s left of us are
words trapped inside this poem.
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