Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Murdered children
The Amish have a saying
Forgive and forget
But that killer is dead

So many still at large
In Srebrenica
In Washington too
Not only alive but considered heroes by some





I can forgive
Maybe one day I will forget too.
If there is ever any justice done.

Not revenge

i have not forgotten
our trip to new york city,
arm in arm, poets dancing
a manhatten tune,
if we can make it there,
(and we did), we can make
it anywhere (and we will),

your satin soul shining through
into a room of derelict spirits,
united in word and laughs,
my tears poured like a wine
carafe and you drank them in
in a night lost in spin until
i tripped over you in the morning
trying to make my way to the john,
(with only my panties on and smeared
mascara) and now you return to share
churches and statues, alleys and doors,
a feather and genocide demonstrations,
a pool with leaves floating like my heart
floated to yours and your brother's when
we said goodbye and a train station
where we'll meet one day again wearing
striped brightly colored ties, our bones,
our shells, our mannequin figures on sale
for a stone's throw from a weeping carved
maiden

and we will have coffee cup after cup after
cup, mug after mug, each a ceramic painting
of storm clouds above our projected destination,
for a while, stopped again, no strings on marionnettes,
our arms waving free to embrace a calm sea
and you and i will wade into it
arm and arm again
before we have to
return to brick
and mortar
notices

we are the same
i have missed your name,
your voice

your presence
your choice
to return
for minor
moments

our blessing

i have not
forgotten

through the pain of loneliness
the sad satin dreams of no more
through the sepia blur of forgetting
the sweet softness of nostalgia

i remember