Remembering amnesia and the rain

I tried my hand at poetry four or five years ago, and while I look back at earlier works and despair at how pathetic and naive I had been, there is one that remains, to this day, my favourite, no matter how old and ugly it is when held to my present standards.

Facebook has this nifty feature where it shows you posts from the same day of previous years (called On This Day), and lo and behold it turns out that today is the fifth anniversary of Of Amnesia and the Rain. In celebration thereof, I’m sharing Of Amnesia‘s fifth draft, whose many possible titles I have long since forgotten and never bothered keeping track of. It still needs much work, but I only ever leave it alone now. It makes it presence known when it feels like being revised.


My dear,
I will not be surprised
if tomorrow you wake and find that
you no longer recall my name
or remember the very lines of my face.
It will not be taken lightly,
as I am sure you are aware, but with
peace to you, I guarantee that
I will not look back, or hurt, or wallow
deep in the murky shadows
of my foreshadowing despair. I know:
there will be days that I shall drown in
pinpricks of doubts and sounds
that will remind me of the way
your touch hissed against my skin;
there will be days when gentle winds will
blow to me fiercely the feel of your breath
on my neck; there will be days that
remind me of that one night you shed
a tear for me. I know: time will come
when everything around me will
remind me of everything that was
once mine—you, and you warm hands;
and the rain, I know it will stir in me
nostalgia of the rivers I cried
the day you left, and the day I let you
leave me, my dear.

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