Forgetting,
according to the theory,
is not something that just happens,
it's an active process.

Well, that's the theory,
but we all know, we don't always mean to forget.
Sometimes there are more important things,
or more interesting,
for us to remember.
And sometimes our brain does the forgetting for us,
without our wishing it.

The old lady wondered
why the car we were in was so big.
"It's a hearse.
We're going
to the funeral,
do you remember?"
"Whose funeral is it?"
"We're going to bury Dad,
your husband."
"My husband?
I was married?
Was he a good man?"

She had not chosen to forget
the life they had spent together.
Her brain had simply switched off those years
as if they had never happened.

Lucky in a way.
What would her life have been
if she had remembered
those seventy-three years
and had nothing to replace them?
Worse still, if she had had to start remembering
all over again?

[Inspired by a photo by Munia Khan posted on Facebook]

I gave you red roses
as a sign of my love,
and now they lie there,
cast down on the pavement.

Red petals, green leaves,
faded and dry,
all life gone from them,
shrivelled and dead,
like the love that you once said
you felt for me.
Only thorns are left
to remind me of your heartlessness.

Is this what my love means to you?
What did I do
to change your mind?
Is there no hope for me any more?

on the first day of spring
my mother died

she had always loved flowers
and had turned
our interior hallway
into a luscious greenhouse
   father was not always happy
   about the falling leaves

in her later years
when skiing was no longer hers
she hated winters
   their long nights
   their waning sun

she was always longing
   for spring
waiting for the day
the morning sun lit up
the kitchen desk again
in her parents’ house
where she was born
   and had grown old

the night before
I had called and told her
that here in the south
the first flowers were already
   dotting the gardens

she had smiled on the phone
   almost inaudibly
speaking had become difficult

   maybe her last images
   were of colorful spring meadows

today at 7.10 a.m.
my mother died

spring has come

For all the years we've shared
I would go back and share again
The joys, the tears
The love and passion
I would live them all again

I would go back before we met
And meet you one more time
And when I cast this mortal coil
I will wait for you my love
And love you one more time