I Choose to Remember the Happy
What do you do when your whole entire worldview
becomes a crimson recorder?
Do you run and hide because the truth has the weight
of a squadron of elephants
or do you face it, one-on-one, eye to eye?
Memories quickly become scattered across the hard patter
of an old floor at a relative's house —
the midnight lamps burning…
mind swirling into “what ifs?” and —
all sorts of things.
A movie reel begins to play, an opening scene of
no compare, yet
it is both black and white
but also, as foretold, crimson.
You have recorded the moments in another time
when you were an other you —
and now everything flits and flirts with
your view — your whole entire worldview
as it were —
and this is the play of your life.
Were the memories fond?
Surely we ponder those first
as our minds hurry to compose
as many pleasantries
And they whirl.
They whirl about.
We cannot think of any other World
but this one,
in our immediacy.
How can a mind turned topsy-turvy
focus on the issues at hand,
those of our newly acquainted
for we are never planned to plan,
so we hurry.
We forget the moments we just created
as fresh templates to squeeze
good morning orange juice
into the glasses that fill
We forget the happy.
We worry. We worry and we hurry.
And we forget.
We forget to remember the happy.
“I choose to remember,
as hard as it may be,
that I am love
and I am loved
and that I can love
with my whole heart
anything I choose.
I choose to remember