In Islam, “Ghaflah” refers to the sin of forgetfulness

Grief scrapes at my skin
she never
“Be a big girl!”
wanted to touch
much
except to disinfect
or bandage

I acknowledge nothing

I forget the mother of my hurt
her innocence of pride
her suicide

That first woman

lowered eyes
folded hands
withered limbs
among the plastic flowers
rhinestone bracelets
eau de toilette
trinkets from slow
compromise

Where did she go?

After swallowing fifteen/twenty/thirty-five pills
she tried to rise
and rising
froze
forever trying to arise
from compromise

And I do not remember finding her
like that
half seated half
almost standing up

just dead
by her own hand
just dead

I do not remember finding her
like that

I forget the burned toast/
spinach
cold eggs
taste-free tuna fish
and thin spread peanut butter
sandwiches
she left for me

I erase
the stew the soup
she cooked and carried
everywhere
to neighbors

I forget three or four other things
I cannot recall
how many pairs of pretty shoes
how many dressup overcoats
I saved my nickels
dimes and quarters
all year long
to buy
at Christmas time
to give to her
my mother
she
the one who would wear nothing
beautiful

Or how I strut
beside her walking anywhere
prepared for any lunatic
assault

upon her shuffling
journey
to a bus stop

I acknowledge nothing

I forget she taught me
how to pray
I forget her prayers
And mine

I do not remember
kneeling down
to ask for wisdom
high-top sneakers
or linoleum chips
to animate
my zip gun

I have never remembered
the blistering fury
the abyss
into which
I capsized
after her last
compromise

I wish I had found her
that first woman
my mother
trying to rise
up

I wish I had given her
my arm

both arms

I have never forgiven her
for going away

But I don’t remember anything

Grief scrapes at my skin
she never
“Be a big girl!”
wanted to touch
much