Amnesia, Selective

When memory decides To no longer bear the burdens— Of pain, or even plain indifference She has her winsome wicked ways. Some day, years later, Life requires you to unearth Some event long past and you Set about browsing your brain Like a desk-full of office files and then— Come across a resounding emptiness. Memories drizzle-fragile Are not to be found. What Greets you instead, through Those yellowing sheets of typed matter is The blank and ugly blotches of dried whitener So carefully applied, then. It has a fading smell of Chalk and chlorine: a blend, like memory, that works at Your throat. You try to scratch it and the faintest hopes are Betrayed as the caked pieces of the whitener crumble, Displaying nothing, but toe curling holes where crummy paper and ink once contained you.