I am starting to forget small details
Where did you go to school, what was
your favorite book, how your voice sounded
that night you called me from New Jersey
and I had to sit in the car so my family wouldn’t hear
the way my voice softened around the phone.
What was your reason for not coming to Seattle?
I have started to forget the specifics
(I think your favorite book was Dandelion Wine,
I’m not sure I will ever be sure again)
Ask me five years ago if I thought I could ever forget these things
I would have thought about my favorite song,
how I remember the lyrics no matter how long
it’s been since I last heard it
and I would have said no,
no, I won’t forget a thing.
But here’s what I’ve learned about memory:
It can’t hold everything.
It’s not meant to.
And the man I love now
has a spot on his shoulder where my head fits like a puzzle piece
I can make a constellation of the moles on his back
and I know exactly what it feels like to be safe
This is what I remember
Grace Carlson is a writer from Washington. She writes fiction, creative nonfiction, and the occasional poem. She also writes articles on travel, mental health, writing, and books. Sometimes she’s funny, or at least that’s what her mom says. Follow her on Instagram @gracieawriter.