To Remember

The phone rings, Trilling like old-time rotary dials, He was a old-time soul trapped in a young man’s body, Not that he had much to apologise for, Anymore than dusk had to do for Taking over from daylight: “Daylight robbery,” it laughed and thought The kettle whistles, Like a courtesy call or a customary greeting, Default for all seasons, the unpleasantness Of the circumstance be damned; A cup for all the right reasons, And perhaps some wrong ones too, But a piping hot cup nonetheless The sun burns bright, Like the remembrance of noon After a slow morning, When the last of the previous night’s Dew catches the late bus up and away, To prepare for its reincarnation, This time as a tear drop in a wishing well Remembrance, And I’ve forgotten more than I ever knew, Or perhaps it’s the converse, I remember more than I ever forgot, Things I forgot to remember, Or else, things I remembered to forget; My mind in long conflict with my body, Body against my limbs, Limbs against the ground, Ground against time, Time against the wheel, Round again to the beginning, Like a frozen lie stuck in a makeshift grave, One hurriedly dug to keep me From my neverending search It never ends, And at last I find myself looking for my Movements in the last place I left them, My arms and feet still on the last thrum Of the beating drum; My lungs held breath one day to a year Turned too many, till the great exhale, Like sliding down labyrinths of memory, Discovering and rediscovering, Finding again what it means to stand, Finding again what it means to move; Finding again what it means to dance The door rings, And perhaps it’s a friendly caller, The postman with a long-lost letter, Perhaps it’s my movements writing to me After all this time, or perhaps It had since written and I’m only just reading All the same, It feels good, By the trilling of the phone, The whistling of the kettle, And the ringing of the door, To remember