Three café explorations.
“Reality serves at memory’s pleasure,”
something I read somewhere.
I have a tattoo with the very same words.
Quite the coincidence.
I’m whimsically curious about your reading choices,
about the when and where.
Details I’ve forgotten, I’m afraid. I wasn’t paying close attention.
She offered me the pack of Marlboro Memories,
and I’d finished one a moment before,
a fade of smoke, an echoed warmth
congealed against the throat.
I squinted at the blackboard menu, chalked, rechalked,
patchworked with erasures, crossings out.
I’ll have another latte, Abstinence Three’s on special.
First sip is three-day retrograde deletion
of memories of caffeine. Peak craving, so they say.
How’s the bird repair shop going?
As slowly as an infinite regress, as a pointless verse;
leak repairs for a scuba diving cormorant,
an orthonormalizing engine for an interstellar sparrow,
and for a boa, feather implants.
When I asked about her notes,
she turned the page through space and time
from twelve to three o’clock.
What’s been redacted?
Your second coffee erased your recollection of the first.
Did someone say, “We’re made of memories”?
Deleted from your personal timeline
along with coffee number one.
She leaned across the table in a cloud of scented whispers.
It’s the latest in synaptic fashion: customized forgetting.
I’ll be erased from you, a month of us together gone,
and when we meet tomorrow, it will be a celebration.
Magic and the night, the Transcendent Trattoria
with cacciatore free-range chicken,
liberated from their earthly cage.
Querida, if you love me, won’t you please forget me?
Every moment is a token we’ve created,
coffee instants, you and me in post-it note reminders.
We’re made of what we make ourselves
in pendant circularity, spirals paired and interwoven.
So no, amor. I won’t.
- memory also has persistence and persimmonence
- Perfidia (Spanish) Linda Ronstadt version
- Marlboro is a trademark of Philip Morris
- Post-it Note, 3M trademark
artwork lost city nights, detail above