Karen Boissonneault-Gauthier, Time within the Sundial
Memory Is Cruel
(In Memory of Denis Charlton)
Susan Darlington
After you’ve gone
I try to recall a scene
onto which grief can wash–
one clear memory of you
to make sense of a life–
but each time you slide
just out of reach.
I understand too late
what you must have suffered
when disease eroded
your short-term memory
until there was only the past,
a porous place that leaked
out new connections.
And I finally remember
the last time we met,
when our conversation looped
as we looked out at sea
and you asked again and again
if the landslide that blocked
the promenade steps was new.
Waves surged over the risers
in the lull while I considered.
A gull wheeled overhead–
pulled away your attention–
and by the time I whispered yes
you’d already forgotten the
question.
(In Memory of Denis Charlton)
Susan Darlington
After you’ve gone
I try to recall a scene
onto which grief can wash–
one clear memory of you
to make sense of a life–
but each time you slide
just out of reach.
I understand too late
what you must have suffered
when disease eroded
your short-term memory
until there was only the past,
a porous place that leaked
out new connections.
And I finally remember
the last time we met,
when our conversation looped
as we looked out at sea
and you asked again and again
if the landslide that blocked
the promenade steps was new.
Waves surged over the risers
in the lull while I considered.
A gull wheeled overhead–
pulled away your attention–
and by the time I whispered yes
you’d already forgotten the
question.