THE FIRST

I struggle with her name

trying to wriggle it free

from the rusty locks

that trap so much

of my precedent.

More and more,

it seems, I hoard

behind those gilded doors,

protecting a history

I no longer treasure

- I cannot.

My memories are made safe

from me.

I strain to liberate threads

from a magic coat

threads once pulled so easily.

Occasionally, I pry free

instants I'd forgotten

of days long gone.

Sometimes, I review smells

or sounds of years ago.

Sometimes, I see crushing defeats

or dangerous beauties.

Sometimes, I recognize the past

as I imagined it.

And some days,

I can remember her name.

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