However, with the passing of time...do the memories dim and imperceptibility become altered?

i don't exactly remember,
i choose that i can't, i remove all the little things that make me
remember

put all their personal belongings in the box
and give them to charity
the orphans are happy with the boy's clothes and pants

the old women at the senior home
took their turns choosing mama's dresses and headbands

i choose to forget what and who they are in my life.
i move on with a new name, transferred to a place beyond the reach
of memories

meeting new faces, making love with new bodies
not settling long, not being alone,
always fluid like a river
always blown like a leaf.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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