so you thought you forgot

when have i ever wanted to remember

I remember my dad's bedtime stories
i remember when they stopped.
the way mom's bedtime songs stopped
nap time stopped
i grew up too early
but not from a tragedy
from how things are rough and we're all different,

I remember the pink sweater mom's best friend gave me, I wore it for years and i saw it in a picture a few weeks ago and it was ugly and flowered
like a lot of things I had
and i loved it.

I remember clocks. roosters at farmhouses and windmills and grandfathers and i remember watches and alarms
tick- tock- ing and screaming
and i was always late
because i was always
with my mom.

I remember the first time I ran away,
I remember I sat on the hill and wondered if I would go back that day.
I remember my heart was more sizes too small than the grinch must have felt
because I Hated.
I remember wondering if my bag of trail mix would last me through the night,
I had taken extra on purpose.

I remember in 4th grade I drew an orange with pastels and it was tied for the best in the class.

I remember the room that my mom started swearing in.
it was my room and there was a bunk bed
and I remember my brother drew in lipstick on the metal bed frames
and it made me angry the way my mom swearing made me scared
like red lipstick
in clumps
on cold white steel
in a room plastered with pink flowered wallpaper.

I remember that room was cold
but it had the best view.

I remember trying to skip stones and giving up,
throwing handfuls instead because it was the only way I
could make two splashes in a row.

I remember throwing baseballs and then
maybe it was the broken windows
but i started throwing punches instead

I remember we stayed at the lake too long,
the way we stay at every lake too long.
I remember that my cousins fly-fished in the rain, and I remember wet knees and messy hair because we waited
for them in the grass
with a blanket over our heads.

I remember playing School in the little blue playhouse
the ivy-covered story-book playhouse
where we hid the box of dead killer bees,
where we hid ourselves and the grapes we picked too early,
there was a desk inside,
and I remember there was an attic with a ladder in the playhouse
and I remember the play house better than the real one.

I remember an iced driveway and a hammer, and a little girl who fell

a cat who chased itself up a tree

there must have been a dog

I remember slivers from the porch and tweezers in my parents' hands and laying down on the table while the tweezers dug through my toe
I remember I dislike doctors
and maybe I'm scared of surgery
because the sliver went deep.

I remember a walk to elephant seals
to California poppies
and tall grass
and bike rides
and the boardwalk,
I remember i was never cold,

I remember the stream we played in at Grandpa's funeral, although
i only remember Grandpa in his casket,

i remember apricots when I think of your house, cousins,
the apricots we never picked but wanted to,
they looked so sweet
like all of the things we talked about but never did.

I remember I'm still writing
and you're probably burnt out on my memories,
but I don't think I'm writing this for you


I remember too much,
but I'm writing because I'm afraid I'll forget.

those things I've forgotten I always want back

always

oh the things

oh the days you've forgotten.

everett mills.