The Folly of a Thoughtful Amnesiac

Pete and Repeat were on a boat. Pete fell off. Who was left?


I woke up with new memories
in my fingertips, a need
to Good Will Hunting this problem
again. I draw the sharpness
of your jaw to solve
for each nerve ending that won’t
forget. There’s a scientist

in me that wants an empty room
save two metal chairs
and some ceiling tiles, to sit
across from you asking
the same question on a loop
until it catches. Tell me
what it’ll be like. Are you looking
inside me or did you sew
those sparkles in your eyes? I’m buckling

before the white board.
I’ve got flowers in my hair.
I’ve had different DNA
since that night our feet
touched in the pool, but
can you speak
into this recording device?
A good scientist must have good tools.
You say you’ve already answered
but I can’t
or won’t remember.

Hear Me Roar

We know what we want:
bang for our buck,
melt in our mouths
and so on. The fingers
fumble for the pill case.
They have eyes. Modern
women are puzzles
made from the shapes.
When they go low, we go
high, burning up our fuse
out there alone. And so on.
The fingers find the smallest
one, but size doesn’t always
matter. Nothing matters
when time can stop
and start like this. It’s late
but there’s always tomorrow.
The fingers remember tomorrow,
the elephant never forgets -
that’s what the big one’s for.
All halcyon days, yada yada
until the regret
steals in.

Chelsea Logan

Chelsea Logan lives in Nashville, TN. Her work has most recently appeared in The Paper Dragon, PIF Magazine, The Dead Mule School, MockingHeart review, and several anthologies.

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