The End of Remembering

Grateful for each small moment
I remember.
Come one September,
I might forget.
Left to sit beside
foreign embers.
I dig through depths of those I know.
Not much more than what they show.
A lavender early morning,
invites dreams I am storing.
Upon the path I am forging.
On the sunny day my mind is gorging.
She has to live with no memory.
Not even remembering she's my mom.
It's heart shattering.
Make so many memories.
The ghosts have got lots to see.