I Forget

Why don't I remember . . .
the name of the first boy to ask me out on a real date, where we went, and if I enjoyed him as much as I did the idea that I was on a date,
the literature I read in college and what did and did not move me (other than the frustration I felt at Sozenhitzen's One Day in the Life of Ivan Denosovitch upon realizing it really was just about ONE day),
every vacation I have ever taken . . . in detail and including the views I knew in that moment I'd never forget?

Why don't I remember . . .
movies that brought me to tears,
those after school TV shows that were supposed to teach me moral lessons,
the reason for each time I walked the aisle and rededicated my life at First Baptist in Greenfield,
how it felt the first time I was truly loved?

Why don't I remember . . .
a night of wining and dining has a morning after,
would-be lovers say things I want to hear and real loves don't always hear what I have to say?

Why don't I remember . . . that I don't always remember?

NOTE: If you like poetry -- and even if you don't like mine -- check out Ellen Bass. Her Pray for Peace rocked me!