The Uncertainty Of Memory
my childhood
yes
MY childhood
as i am fixed
here
the line is dead
oh for a diary
but no one had told me
and no one had said
then
and all those days
kept from the ink of a pen
an itch not scratched
only shuffled faces
in a box
but do the words match?
and do the lives stitch?
together
i am set
to this life
now
and those thoughts moved away
some time ago
from this fractured memory
frame by frame
inventing days to remember?
oh for a diary
just a simple
cardboard box
full of MY days
a book for each year
but maybe it was just
so fucking dull
i try to fill up those spaces
inside this solid warm sparking mass
of my thinking
teased into every corner
of those years
in this place where it all goes on
this well-used filing cabinet
and the lost details
of my childhood
yes
MY childhood
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poem by Tony Sweeting
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