If I Forget
If I forget you thunderstorms remind me claps
thunder sheets of warm rain apple blossoms
plastered on wet sidewalks the smell of clean
afterwards if I forget you there is the richness
of wine on the palate coffee spread over tongues
if i forget the breeze blowing curtain mornings
before you wake if I forget what skin feels
what it feels I forget if I forget you there is
always the night sky stars and fireflies if I
atmosphere forget and the air in forests if
hidden between the trees in memory around
bends of rushing rivers over rocks if I forget
you what is remembering if I ever there was
your hair and it was my face and if I remember
there is something in this world I will never
forget.
David Banach is a queer philosopher and poet in New Hampshire, where he tends chickens, keeps bees, and watches the sky. You can read some of his poetry in Isele Magazine, Gyroscope, Etymology, Ars Sententia, and Amphibian Lit. He is co-editor of Touchstone, from the Poetry Society of New Hampshire.