You may see a theme in my poems about holding onto ideas and writing them down before they’re gone. It is because forgetfulness is one of my most despised flaws.
I inherited my forgetfulness from my mother, which is to say that I inherited chronic migraines from her, and either the migraines or the medications used to treat them have poked holes in both our memories the size of entire years. Perhaps that is why I became a writer; perhaps it is simply the act of putting memories on paper, knowing that I cannot trust my mind to hold them.
I wonder sometimes what it would be like to have a flawless memory, to be able to recall events and thoughts in great detail. What if that bucket of ideas I call my mind was not this rusted, hole-covered thing and was instead pristine? I feel as though I would place it carefully on the shelf where I would keep my trophies. I would celebrate my full mind, even when it hurts.
After all, it seems as though the bad memories are the ones who like to stick around anyway.
Stay tuned for more “Behind the Poem” entries throughout the month of April, and if you want a sneak peek at tomorrow’s poem, check my Patreon. (It’s free!)
Happy reading,
Sibyl