Fact or Fiction

The details have begun
to fade—was it June
or July? New York or
Cleveland? Who were you 

opening for? Was a body
of water involved? I could sprinkle
these memory ashes
downstream into the river 

deceit. The truth: 

I haven’t forgotten even one
detail. Down to the pocket
in my dress, later chewed and torn
by an innocent Airedale. 

The truth? Do memories drown
when they’ve served their purpose?
Is two decades long enough?
What if they float?

Day 2,703

Some days she’s not willing
to dig deep
below a scratched surface 

truth. Some days she just wants
to see her
reflection crack
and walk on. Some

other days that become nights
she would rather go
blind than acknowledge
the visions trapping 

her heart inside an under river
tunnel. This could be
one of those.