Who do you remember first?
I mean, the first person you remember ever.
Now, don’t you pretend that
you have to wrack your memory-
it’s not a dusty old house with a lifetime of rubbish inside.
The truth? The truth is
we forget most of the detritus,
the bits of an ordinary life
are ordinary- they don’t need their own boxes.
But the boxes we keep:
We polish and preen them, bring them out to use with company,
or keep them tucked away
only for ourselves. Some things are personal
we all have one memory
utterly the same.
That first face.
It doesn’t matter what you call her-
it doesn’t matter where you are-
in your first memory,
she was there.
Happy Mother’s Day!