Every day,
fresh trauma
is minted,
is deemed
too precious
to spend—
is saved
instead,
is recklessly
preserved,
is obsessively
earmarked
for later,
grows rotten.
*
Then, one day,
just before your bullish
toddler swipes away—
as seen
from space
as seen
on the lockscreen
of an outdated iPhone.
How long
had we known
it would always be this way?
None of this
could be lost;
it all must
be forgotten.
