Telling Our Story

ah
but oh my darling
what if it were possible
to tell the story differently
and remember only the most precious parts

maybe we should keep close
the moment under the willows
and let the traffic noise slip away

i saw a man - a doctor, i think -
talking about memory and the falibility of our minds
and, if memory serves,
his conclusion was: we remember what we remember
that is, we remember what we practice remembering
and the rest is slowly lost
unless a trigger outside of us sparks that old wisp of a thought and we rework it again
if that is true then we can forget that whole mess with the can of soup and the olive juice
i want to remember that one perfect shower instead
the feeling of your cold fingers and the hot water
our foreheads pushed together
a cool breeze when the cat eased the door open
the clean smell of laundry and the home smell of casserole
they came upon us silently that afternoon
and all was well

maybe i could forget the thistle stings of childhood
and instead capture the warm sunlight on my back
and the smell of my favorite books
the ache of my muscles as I leaned on my elbows and stomach
reading beautiful stories

what if we told the story again
with only the sweet honey moments

would that be fooling ourselves?
would you mind?