Forgotten

Like trying to remember a bush out a train window. That's what it seems like now. It's that distant. Tree, plow, the mindless horse, a solitary cow — if you could freeze the frame. Otherwise, what do you see, what do you remember?

But don't you sometimes imagine you will never forget the person you see in the rear view mirror, in the car behind you; the pedestrian who does not look up; the woman handing you a double latte in an indistinguishable cafe; or the dark-haired woman in the blue doorway, or the neighbor's voice out of the window.

Haven't you ever thought you could even remember a certain stretch of concrete on the freeway. Someone you barely met 40 years ago and exactly what they said and how. A log you jumped over as a child. The most obscure detail on Beach Lane, in Wainscott Long Island, so long ago.

I've forgotten everything but I could point out each pebble on the road between Ifrane and Michlieffen and tell its story.