We forget

We forget

We forget so easily when the sun returns
the anguish of the sunless days
the freezing fog that pries the blood
from the veins and fills them with mist.

We forget the chill that runs in the marrow
brittle as starlight splitting sinew
and jabbing fingertips and toes
with fine bone splinters.

We forget the chimney that won’t draw
and the clammy cold of damp sheets
the shadows that gather in the corner
when the cats have fled.

We forget the dark despair
the emptiness where the heart beat red and racing
and the mournful sight of birds
searching for elusive food.

Elation the soaring of spirits
at the spread of golden light
is the erasure of memories
finger-flex in the tremulous warmth

and we forget what is always there
beneath the hedge
in the hollows where the mist lingers

and the stiffening of the plume-spread body
that will never fly into the sun again.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

10 thoughts on “We forget”

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