Insomniac, I wander the garden.
Moon wanders there too
Or so it appears, as the trees sway
And jiggle and jerk to hook her.

Avoiding the tangles her shadows make
I plant myself in the dark centre of the lawn.
The grass falls away into nothing
And I float, an astronaut.

A tall white plant glides towards me
But I have forgotten its name.
M… Marigold? No!
Meadowfoam? Monarda?

“Moon, you don’t forget or turn your back.
You are reliable as only the long-dead are,
So long dead they are oil or diamonds,
A man’s or a girl’s best friend.”

“Be grateful you can forget,” says Moon.
“My gaping craters forget nothing
Whereas, nightly, Earth decomposes the day,
Forgetting is healing. Just forget.”

“Dah de Dah. Mignonette!” I cry.
The moonlit tentacles of mignonette
Swim into my world of words.
The garden’s now lit up with music, story, poems, glory.

“Be grateful,” says Moon. “Don’t regret.
But write about it  soon, before you forget.”


2 thoughts on “Forgetting

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