Not remembering is worse than remembering

there was a phone call, an echoed voice

and after — 

nothing remembered for months 


a phone call that told me of

profound change;

hard change that is the icy rain whipping

across my hair:

it’s not coming

it’s here and it’s too late


a phone call:

after that 

all i have are holes,

the spaces between misshapen memories

that aren’t mine,

but tales that a nurse told me


after the phone call

months disappeared 

i didn’t notice

i was occupied

wondering if this is where i should be

 to not remember