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Eileen R. Tabios



I Forgot Eyes Widening To Pull In More of the World


I forgot Andalusia, where duende also insisted on “living life as if dreaming.”

I forgot the Spanish guitar never wanted dawn to arrive without glass goblets shattering.

I forgot I opened the Iron Gate for you by losing wings—o lost shields for my eyes tracking an old target: the Sun!

I forgot a boy losing his hand after a steeple spiraled across vermilion sky.

I forgot a dungeon’s red velvet chair crashing to its side so that our pens would mate.

I forgot boats burning where fire bloomed roses in the middle of an ocean.

I forgot continuing to be possessed by a limbic brain.

I forgot I preferred to be the envelope versus the perfumed snapshot slipped in.

I forgot she was a hurricane in my kitchen, always stealing my eggs.

I forgot rain does not truly forgive.

I forgot lies crafting incentives.

I forgot I painstakingly constructed a stage.

I forgot trading flesh-colored pantyhose for silk vermilion stockings bruised by black.

I forgot underwear became artifact.

I forgot whispering as a failed position, It is good to feel.

I forgot chastisement rom a scar traversing her belly.

I forgot her interior became an effective compass.

I forgot intimacies with cognac and port, mahogany furniture, creaking butlers, stuffed animal heads on walls, minor Europeanroyalty, cherry-scented pipes, tartan…

I forgot eyes widening to pull in more of the world.

I forgot eyes unable to transcend bleakness.

I forgot the conundrums of evacuating mornings.

I forgot she throbbed.

I forgot the moons ending all days bequeathed by leap years.

I forgot she became the wind after losing all misgivings at drying my feet with her hair.

I forgot hands slowly betraying French manicures.

I forgot promiscuity in chiding weather.

I forgot turning professorial with a box of Corona Gordas harrumphing by my side.

I forgot my chin’s truculent shoving at air expanded the whites in her eyes, but also parted her lips to reveal a lollipop-green tongue’s peek.

I forgot germs in silk pavilions embossed with blue dragons.

I forgot obviating zero gravity to hone in.

I forgot her poverty at spatial relationships—in sympathy, one of us pawed at air.

I forgot she accommodated my brandy.

I forgot she quivered like 19th century theater.

I forgot periscopic sightings of her toes, so much like young toads from an underbrush in Brazil.

I forgot instructing saliva to wait.

I forgot I knew better than to display flinch.

I forgot her red-rimmed eyes denoted the exhausted pace of a replicating light-year.

I forgot surveying bone resigned to an impending break.

I forgot she was not the wind. Not then.


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