by jdavidcharles

Thinking of people, memory, identity–what stories and things we tell ourselves to make-up ourselves. This poem is meant not to be didactic or moralizing but more of a space to inhabit and let these questions arise: not an answer, but a dwelling.




I could swear from

behind it was you


or from the front

and from a distance,


you walked right

by and didn’t even


double-take as I

thought of all you


did and might have

done given the time


or whim and I decided

then and there to


forgive you, put it

all behind us, start


over, afresh, right

from the beginning,


and forgive myself

too, even for the things


undone and half

done, and, I must


admit, I felt a little

sorry as he reached


out and grabbed

your arm, slowly


and tightly pulling

inward, wrapping you


around himself,

kissing your lips.