I have forgotten my PIN number, forgotten
which anecdotes I have told to whom
and, come to think of it, most of my best stories.
I have no longer read any of the books that lean
against each other now with their dog-ears
and grease stains. I may have taken my various
once-daily doses several times or not at all.
The bathtub has long since drained and still
I sit here, blinking, naked as the day I was born.
I remember the way to the trailhead
of the mountain I always said I would climb
when it came to this. I told myself I would sit
on the peak and face into the sun until it was gone.
In the last light my mind would hold as tightly
as it could to Peter-boy . . . and Jamesie and . . .
the rest, urging them to live wildly happy lives
and not wait as long as I have to stop being afraid—things I may have told them once or a hundred times before.
(from Oberon, 2013)