I Remember
I remember seventies gloom.
I remember miners’ strikes and Belfast bombs.
I remember wide lapels and Top of the Pops.
I remember hating glam rock. I remember I still do.
I remember all the beige food.
I remember being in the hospital. I don’t remember why.
I remember playing until dark in the fields long built over.
I remember my mother drunk in the kitchen.
I remember Super 8 and VHS.
I remember when time meant less.
I remember eighties waves and waking up before I had to go-go.
I remember that love is a battlefield.
I remember my father leaving for war.
I remember the phone call from the ministry.
I remember there being a day after.
I remember breakfast television and the violence of the bus.
I remember Byner’s fumble.
I remember that I am your father.
I remember wanting to leave.
I remember him never the same afterwards.
I remember the world speeding up.
I remember the nineties smelled like teen spirit.
I remember when it was all over and the lights came on.
I remember the drunken euphoria of that goal against Scotland.
I remember going to bed and a tunnel accident in Paris.
I remember the moment Kurt blew his brains out.
I remember the argument on the emigrant’s journey to university.
I remember that I was never going back.
I remember finally having time and space.
I remember being awkward.
I remember I said that thing I should never have said.
I remember her. I forget that it hurts.
I remember a room with damp on the walls.
I remember the first night in a place of my own.
I remember the terror of the flight home after September 11th.
I remember when all the phones went dead.
I remember getting a social security number aged twenty seven.
I remember crying at the departure gate.
I remember thinking she’s here somewhere.
I remember seeing her across the room.
I remember Union City Blue as I arrived in New York.
I remember I still miss Philadelphia. I forget it broke my heart.
I remember not having to worry about getting home.
I remember the introduction of deadline. And consequence.
I remember she said yes. I remember not to forget why.
I remember we slept on the floor that first night.
I remember the test said yes. And two became three.
I remember the tens and thinking that doesn’t sound right.
I remember getting sick.
I remember nothing after the doctor told me.
I remember making my peace. And the silence it brought.
I remember writing. But never writing home.
I remember not finding a heartbeat.
I remember pouring all our love into our only child.
I remember breaking the cycle.
I remember phones really becoming a thing.
I remember the internet wasn’t all good.
I remember traveling too much for work.
I remember none of it mattered anyway.
I remember thinking if not now then when.
I remember thinking it would only last a few weeks.
I remember disinfecting the mail.
I remember camera off and pajamas on.
I remember that bleaching yourself definitely wasn’t going to work.
I remember the joy of a fiftieth birthday alone.
I remember realizing now was the time.
I remember it all.
I remember to tell her everything.
I remember all the stories and took everything to heart.
I remember I should write it down.
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