Jam Jar

I forget my childhood.

it’s not that I do not know what happened. 

what happened has been folded inside

my dreaming and my temporal lobe

a timeline of events I have had to retell 

to doctors and new lovers

concerned friends

and I have had to repeat them 

in my writing, had to rewrite and 

rewrite            and rewrite          and re

write until my hands become stained 

the blue ink from the chewed bic pen

bleeding into the dark 

causing me to lose them 

when the evening light 

fades ­–

what I want to remember 

is the way that it felt,

the shared silence 

before bedtime, how our tears held            suspended

most of all, I want to remember how 

my tiny sister ate straight from the jam jar, 

how her cheeks must have flushed 

strawberry red

the initial embarrassment of being seen       

before lifting      into a grin 

and how our laughter must have erupted 

like the dollar store bubbles mother sometimes blew 

as we danced on tiptoed feet in the living room.

I want to hold their iridescence 

like this page holds what I’ve lost

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