“the privilege of forgetting”
–Luce Irigaray
Sifting,
as is
its privilege,
what’s expedient
from contradiction,
memory forgets
as it desires.
Here are my frontiers:
a forest drenched in fog,
laced with barbed-wire.
I am troubled there;
that beyond my periphery,
some other lurks
within an understanding
which resists the echo
of my prayer.
A raven swoops once
low across this field
then vanishes between
the fog and rusted wire
into the wood, as if
what must be said
no longer held any
congress with the dead.
(March 3, 2016)
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