every day i think my thoughts.
i make my decisions,
choose my choices.
i have opinions and
preferences. i pick
a shirt, i pick two
socks. i decide if i am
to wear boots
or sandals or stay
slippered or bare.
i think,
“you are doing this right”
or, sometimes,
“everything you do is wrong”.
neither, ever true.
on a page we can write
our wrongs. tip of finger
or tip of tongue, can read
like burning eye.
we can choose,
“i will remember this hurt”.
we can decide
“i will not step into traffic, but
i will still cross a street”.
is this how we can remember
to forget?
due to my memories, i did not try
to avoid the oncoming car, no.
i braced and lowered a shoulder,
the right one, the one made
bare from repeated contact.
had i not tried to fend off the impact,
perhaps i would not now be
in the indifference of ditch.
this, a place where we discard
things no longer of use. flung
from loose fist, gripped
by wind.
mostly tiny alcohol bottles
and fast food wrappers, here
in this quiet roadside trough.
adults tear at their wrapping, encapsulated.
babies sup upon their bottles.
i am in a ditch,
my memories more powerful than
the reality of this present.
i tense and lower my shoulder,
thinking i can withstand the impact.
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