everyone forgets everything

they were supposed to take an aspirin

on September 7, 1941, but they forgot—

by December 11, 1973, coup in Chile,

it was rainy inside jackets, how could they

not know they had forgotten? The mufflers

remembered, the parked cars, the allen

wrenches, but not the people, who practiced

forgetting drinking the black coffee

of forgetting, forgetting in conversation,

sleepless sleep, turning off and on lights

in rooms, every flipped switch was

practice forgetting—not the sudden cliff

of history or 3 stars falling on Sand Creek,

but the the day under their fingernails, day

embedded under the skin like tiny stars of glass.