Amnesiac (3 little poems)

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1

Poised at the left hand margin

I draw bolts of divergent flesh together

Praying that the stitches will hold

For there is a reality that stands

Perilously close to departure

2

There is a feral child cached

In the paper thin walls

Of my unreceptive womb

I do not know her name

But her screams echo now

As always within my heart

3

For an amnesiac

Writing what you know

Can be achieved only

Through immaculate conception

*

The best writers are often said to write from personal experience but what if you couldn’t remember the events or the people around which those experiences are molded? I suffer from various forms of Epilepsy induced amnesia. Unlike many writers I simply can’t sit down and recount my life in vivid detail. My memories from yesterday have the same vague dream like quality as those from childhood. I have heart and abstraction but lack the concrete details. Often I have to take my raw emotions and put them into fictional or semi fictional pieces because quite frankly I just can’t remember my life well enough. Writing has helped me to know myself. So rather than write what I know I write to discover.