BALLAD Poem: Lost or Forgotten, by Meghan Kathleen

Things are lost but not forgotten.
Once the womb dispenses of you,
every second, you are losing something,
a wiser woman once taught me.

And as the oak trees grow.
and my lungs carry oxygen,
I learn this truth over again.

Things are lost, or are they forgotten?
Are they still here when they are in the crypt?
Are they still known once the brain forgets the word for it?

Your bones grow, and with that comes those nightly aches
and during those moments of sleep and wake,
you lose something,
you forget something.

Does anyone escape life without something taken, something put to bed?
We pray in the early hours for what or to whom we have said farewell (obligingly or not!)
to rest in peace; rest easy.
Even in the tears,
Even in the holy war of grave digging
and tearing of petals,
you live on and with time,
you learn to lose and forget.

But the body always remembers.
The body never considers what is gone as permanent.
Things, indeed, can be lost or forgotten,
Or simply misplaced or staggeringly unbeknown–
But the body is the source that tells the tale
and keeps it close even when it is six feet deep.