fragmented

but i always remember the music

as a girl, my mom and I would sing along to Slipping Through My Fingers
our voices melting in with Donna and Sophie’s as she held me close
and worried about what would happen once I was out of her grasp
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ [it is the one song my quivering lip can’t get through]

sometimes I wonder, if cameras weren’t created, would I still
remember her face—heart-shaped & hollow, fair & olive-skinned
yet dark under the eyes‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎  [I carry the same photo with me everywhere
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎  ‎ as if I’m off to war and I’m preserving
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎  ‎ ‎ the memory of her, of us]

she sent me a letter one year, reminiscing
on our trip to Biloxi beach, but by then those memories
had already departed me
with each year, I lose more of those memories, the happier ones

but I always remember the music
the lullaby of promises she kept in a water jug
the quarters we kept, the one day’s that never came
the beginning line of “schoolbag in hand” and everything
that follows