Forgetting

I sit in my easy chair reading poetry on a bright summer afternoon. After each poem, I think of a Sunday afternoon.

We sat in easy chairs in the far corner of a restaurant after our meal. We read. We tired of our books. I said let’s go back to the room.

I kissed her when we got there. I would not let her go. I knew this is what you wanted when we left the restaurant, she said.

I lost myself in her. I forgot that I had ever lived any lonely unfilled moments in my life.

I glance at the next unread poem, knowing full well I have lived more lonely unfilled moments than I should, yet content with remembering that exquisite moment of forgetting, one of life’s mercies that made me alive and whole.

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Published in: on June 10, 2008 at 3:40 pm  Leave a Comment  

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