JONATHANSIMPSON
"Your memory is a monster; you forget—it doesn't. It simply files things away. It keeps things for you, or hides things from you—and summons them to your recall with will of its own. You think you have a memory; but it has you!”
John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany
Last Time
Last time, I forgot myself. Consumed with making everyone else happy, I disappeared in the process. I walked through our busy life, my protective edges fading into the background, leaving me exposed. I even forgot to breathe. When you said you were finished, I held our last breath, afraid to exhale and release you into your new life without me. When I couldn’t hold on any longer, I watched myself drain down into the area rug beneath me. I imagined my gray life soaking into its colorful tightly woven fibers as you packed. I stepped aside as you rolled up the rug, my essence included. You struggled to lift it, and I instinctively reached out to help. Together we carried it to your waiting car. I knew that someone else was waiting somewhere else, somewhere new, to help you unload it. You would unroll it into your new life. You and he would walk across it, crushing me further without even knowing.
This time, I will remember.
Cracking Up
Crack me open if you can.
Penetrate my shell that offers only the illusion of protection.
You won't hurt me, well, maybe a little.
Fracture me along the poorly healed lines of my life.
Careful, as the demons escape between your gentle fingers.
Agitated, they hover awaiting any opportunity to return
To that dark, comfortable cave that is my heart.
Send them away with a wave of your arm As your lips whisper, "Sshh, he is sleeping."
Wrapped
Wrapped up naked
Can’t tell where you stop and I begin
I think I am petting your arm,
but it could easily be mine.
The lines become clear
as my hand brushes against your breast.
Your nipple reacts
Giving you away