on a first line by Jennica Harper

More often than not, I forget
the shade of summer when snow
still covers the ground; forget
the slap of seal fins, the scream
of jet skis and children in the bay,
the heady smell of lilacs, sharp tang
of berries fresh from the vine,
and the sun’s fingertips on skin.

More often than not, I forget
whether a friend drinks coffee black
or likes sugar in her tea; forget
the easy way to filet fish or stuff a turkey,
how to mix nectar for hummingbirds, 
which day to cart the cracked blue
garbage can up the driveway
or return two books to the library.

More often than not, I forget
my childhood fear of dark basements
and the ache of rheumatic fever; forget
the scent of my mother’s shampoo
or the sound of teenagers laughing,
and whether the policeman’s eyes
were brown or blue when he knocked
on my door that Saturday night.

 © Susan Constable
Tower Poetry, Vol. 54, No. 1, Summer Edition 2005

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