memory is a scar

memory is a scar
on the pale skin of hope
it ripples and crinkles each
time we act

a grainy crunch, sand in the waistband,
waves in the air
that we can no longer see
yet we still see

If each morning I waken blank
unbidden my page fills
like a player piano melody
before I rise into the day
all that happened before
this moment rings
into the space behind

Alzheimer's is another word
for having no past

is that what we want?

I've laid down every day
like a ripped page, scrawled,
sprawled like wrinkles across my bedsheet
grateful for the texture,
fingers grazing the welts
your words
and then your silence left behind