This blue winter morning, that familiar void, tinny and sharp drowned out the clattering utensils, the little bodies still warm from sleep leaning against me. Until the bye moms, punctuated by the front door slam The house then, tidy beds, folded towels, din of furnace, the scent of bacon still lingering.
Steaming tea on hand, staring at the absurd local newscaster in garish morning make up, I’m happy and yet today felt like I have forgotten something. Something important, something I was meant to do, some essential detail. Surely if I try hard enough, I’ll remember, if only I could remember. Ever notice, it’s quite impossible to forget that you’ve forgotten. If I am unable to place the void what am I to fill it with? How could I have willed myself to forget so completely that I wind up back here, inevitably looking back, trying to remember what I so easily must have forgotten.