As I struggle to give my memoir form and substance, I thought I’d share more photos and, again, how it feels to not remember well, to not recall clearly, to lack the detail needed to flesh out a narrative.
Inevitably, having a traumatic childhood (a father with a mafia affiliation) makes for an interesting story, but trauma can also interrupt ones ability to remember. To construct a memoir around fragments of memory, around bits and pieces of past I barely recall, is far from easy and, more often than not, downright maddening.
Below is a poem I wrote about my memory issues–about the fact that I forget more than remember. It’s a poem I’ve fiddled with for ages and am still struggling to revise. Hope you enjoy.The Forgetting I Remember Most Wall to wall memory is platformed into rows (or not) Now asleep Now awake Now a place not namable (asleep) the jagged vertebrae a spine The rock, tooth, decay– A cave where memory goes to sleep. How well do you remember your own childhood?