October 5, 2018Marginalia
I read my daughter’s old Freud,
her college book, an introduction
to parapraxes, how we avoid
significance in small disruptions.
I read her margin notes,
quick summaries and explanations
of his points. What’s lost
is her. I want to hear her
make some crack to roast
the guy. I turn the page. Nearer:
she’s written Dad by forgetting names,
and something made her jot down Flubber.
I also look for hints of blame,
some scribbled clue about intent,
the words that might help me to frame
the subsequent event.
Then this: if worried about a slip—
tend to—does that make it real?—or accident?
A friend said she stopped at the top.
We’ll never know why she paused—
To catch the sun? Check out the slope?
Likely a patch of ice caused—
No way to know or to avoid—
She used to “why” and I “becaused,”
but now all answers are destroyed.
from #60 - Summer 2018