I remember.

I remember
what
I remember.

Science is discovering
how
I remember.

But,
why,
do I remember
?

Why do I remember
her saying,
“I will be your
holy virgin
and your
whore.”
?

Why do I remember,
instantly,
becoming
anxious and depressed,
when all I desired was
to be mired on the couch,
covers over my head,
eyes closed,
face to the pillows
in lieu of being dead
?

Why do I remember
that women,
that angel-stranger,
who,
soon after that failed marriage,
came up behind me
as I stood, crying,
braced on the bow
of that Staten Island Ferry
that cold and rainy night,
wrapped her arms around my waist,
rested her head on my shoulder,
pressed her breasts against my back,
whispered,
” You are loved”
and slipped away
?

Why do I remember
my wife of twenty five years, now,
who,
smiling at me when,
I,
back then,
thinking she was leaving,
said,
“I’m going to miss you”,
replied,
“You don’t have to…”
?

Why do I remember those moments?

Why the need
to feel my past,
again,
the searing intensity of tears,
the hilarity of joys
?

Why
crave that resurrection
?

I don’t know
.

But I do.
!