My mother believes
that every grief
recalls, or
at least summons
the memory of
every other grief.
And I can’t help but
think if that
is so, then
it must also be true
for joy. Just as
it must also be
when the seasons turn
it brings back
every other season
or maybe just the first.
As in the first last
time you ever
experience something.
I remember hearing
Billy Joel playing
The Longest Time
in the other room
on the stereo
while I was in
the other room doing
something else,
and I ran to
where the music
was coming from
thinking it might be
the last time
I ever hear that song.
I was only a kid,
and surprised by
my mother
with the cassette case
in her hand,
and I realized
we could play the song
any time we wanted.
Even when it’s not
on the radio,
you can bring it back
by rewind or
fast forward,
to the precise moment
the song begins.
And not only that
every time you hear the song
is also every other
time you’ve heard the song.
Every age you become
is also every age
you’ve ever been.
Which is why I feel
like a child
as the days grow shorter
and longer
and I’m rushing
from the other room
to see everything
before it passes,
and I forget
there’s nothing
to remember.
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