I once knew a man, he was married to a poet.
He would complain she never remembered to visit her mother.
She never remembered his allergies or his favorite color.
She never remembered to pay the phone bill or to wash her clothes.
She never remembered to take her medicine or take a shower.
She never remembered to take the trash out or to go grocery shopping.

But he got sentimental and told me what she always remembered.

"She always remembered," he said, " what we did in our first date.
She remembers my favorite cologne and what type of detergent irritates my skin.
She remembers when I tell her I love her.
She never forgets to tell it back.
She never forgets to love everyone she meets, greets everyone with a smile and enthusiastic wave.
I guess she can't remember little things like my favorite color or what time she has to go to work.
But she always remembers the important things
And I guess that's all I could really ask for."

It's 7AM
     where you are
and where you are
         I am not.

So time
does not matter
because its passing brings you
no closer to me
                         (nor me to you)

All that matters is that
I am   here
and
you are       there
and I am
missing you
                           (again).

She was told from
an age so young
that she indeed possessed all
the magic she needed
within herself
to set
the worlds
to right.

She placed daisies in
her long black hair
and skipped to the beat of her
own made songs she sang to
herself each
and every
day she
was alive.

She was often alone
rarely with friends as
she found comfort in the faeries
she spoke and sang to while
the swing
blew her
hair in
her face.

She giggled when with her
only little sister to whom
she adored more than
each breath she took
each and
every day
even more.

She stood firm at home
never allowing her fathers
drunken words of pain
penetrate her self made wall
of anger, hatred and despair
inside her
mind there
stood angels.

She closed her eyes at night
wishing the demons to
disperse into the heavy winds
that howled through the rafters
reminding her
she was
infact alive.

© Sia Jane