Crucial Bliss Epilogues/eileen r. tabios

[1]

I forgot the joy of eliding the vocabulary found in margins…. I forgot the Jessamine wafting over the paddock…. I forgot my sympathy for tender hours…. I forgot lurking forever in a red telephone booth to look up at rain and your window…. I forgot dew lingering on a carnation corsage left on a bench…. I forgot the starving Arab boy who wove a rug now hanging above the Spanish Queen’s bed…. I forgot saying things I’d never said before…. I forgot the damp eyes were mine…. I forgot that if you call an island “Isla Mujeres,” half of the population will be anguished…. I forgot part of mortality’s significance is that wars end…. I forgot to be human is to be forgiven.

[2]

I forgot the joy of eliding the vocabulary found in margins…. I forgot my sympathy for tender hours…. I forgot the boy grinning as he folded silver foil into an eagle…. I forgot saying things I’d never said before…. I forgot the damp eyes were mine…. I forgot the pillow still shielding a stray tooth because someone believed in a fairy tale…. I forgot part of mortality’s significance is that wars end…. I forgot the taste of your mouth was song of licorice…. I forgot releasing breath to describe milk transformed by your scent.

[3]

I forgot losing the language of scars—we shook lanterns to bestow frankincense and myrrh…. I forgot the neighbor hiding behind a curtain as he wrote a haiku about a thief tangoing with his shadow when the moon appeared…. I forgot lurking forever in a red telephone booth to look up at rain and your window…. I forgot the “Ideal Violet” whose petals blush during the lemonade days of summer…. I forgot that, sometimes, the world should be veiled….  forgot the pillow still shielding a stray tooth because someone believed in a fairy tale…. I forgot part of mortality’s significance is that wars end…. I forgot to be human is to be forgiven…. I forgot the taste of your mouth was song of licorice.

[4]

I forgot the “Ideal Violet” whose petals blush during the lemonade days of summer…. I forgot that, sometimes, the world should be veiled…. I forgot saying things I’d never said before…. I forgot the tea leaves I brought back from a tiny stall in Kathmandu…. I forgot the charm bracelet that required only one charm…. I forgot the damp eyes were mine…. I forgot that if you call an island “Isla Mujeres,” half of the population will be anguished…. I forgot to be human is to be forgiven…. I forgot the taste of your mouth was song of licorice.

[5]

I forgot the joy of eliding the vocabulary found in margins…. I forgot the Jessamine wafting over the paddock…. I forgot losing the language of scars—we shook lanterns to bestow frankincense and myrrh…. I forgot my sympathy for tender hours…. I forgot my son flinging his leather jacket over a puddle intersecting with my path across Bluemner Street…. I forgot lurking forever in a red telephone booth to look up at rain and your window…. I forgot dew lingering on a carnation corsage left on a bench…. I forgot popcorn spilt on the floor of a darkened movie theater—when butter gleamed, the dispensable became nuggets of gold…. I forgot the starving Arab boy who wove a rug now hanging above the Spanish Queen’s bed…. I forgot saying things I’d never said before.

[6]

I forgot you spilling vermouth on the sky…. I forgot losing the language of scars—we shook lanterns to bestow frankincense and myrrh…. I forgot my sympathy for tender hours…. I forgot the neighbor hiding behind a curtain as he wrote a haiku about a thief tangoing with his shadow when the moon appeared…. I forgot the “Ideal Violet” whose petals blush during the lemonade days of summer…. I forgot popcorn spilt on the floor of a darkened movie theater—when butter gleamed, the dispensable became nuggets of gold…. I forgot the starving Arab boy who wove a rug now hanging above the Spanish Queen’s bed…. I forgot the boy grinning as he folded silver foil into an eagle…. I forgot the charm bracelet that required only one charm…. I forgot the damp eyes were mine…. I forgot part of mortality’s significance is that wars end.

[7]

I forgot the Jessamine wafting over the paddock…. I forgot losing the language of scars—we shook lanterns to bestow frankincense and myrrh…. I forgot the neighbor hiding behind a curtain as he wrote a haiku about a thief tangoing with his shadow when the moon appeared…. I forgot my son flinging his leather jacket over a puddle intersecting with my path across Bluemner Street…. I forgot dew lingering on a carnation corsage left on a bench…. I forgot the starving Arab boy who wove a rug now hanging above the Spanish Queen’s bed…. I forgot the charm bracelet that required only one charm…. I forgot the pillow still shielding a stray tooth because someone believed in a fairy tale…. I forgot a snowfall of daisies whose mottles under moonlight twinkled like a saddhu’s eyes.

[8]

I forgot the Jessamine wafting over the paddock… I forgot the “Ideal Violet” whose petals blush during the lemonade days of summer…. I forgot dew lingering on a carnation corsage left on a bench…. I forgot popcorn spilt on the floor of a darkened movie theater—when butter gleamed, the dispensable became nuggets of gold…. I forgot the boy grinning as he folded silver foil into an eagle…. I forgot saying things I’d never said before…. I forgot that if you call an island “Isla Mujeres,” half of the population will be anguished…. I forgot part of mortality’s significance is that wars end.