The Art of Forgetting
It’s often the eyes that feel it first,
transferring pressures to the temples,
going soft, lids descending like
sunsets on the visible world.
The hands show it worst,
that grasping fatigue in the knuckles,
going stiff in half fists unwilling
to ever be fully unfurled.
So exhausting to keep everything.
The art is in the breathing
like you really mean it, like
you feel oxygen’s renewal
available on demand.
The art is in the laughter
that tosses aside all cares,
all pictures of the cruel,
like useless grains of sand.
The hardest work is letting go of anything.
Enshrouding shoulds with maybes,
letting fingers be feathers for a while
and fly from what we’ve made.
Opening our eyes like babies
agape at this moment’s own arrangement
the innate, the primal dancing in parade.
Kannon McAfee started writing poems in 1984, but kept them to himself for many years. His favorite place to write is at the Oregon coast, but he may be seen in various places in Portland scribbling in his memo pad or on the nearest paper he can grab. He started a writer’s group in his neighborhood in April 2014. He is at heart a mystic and healer, working with astrology and herbal medicine and prefers to start his day among the trees.