It’s quiet when you forget. At first.
They warn you that the stimulation will result
in memory loss, but they don’t tell you that
what you’ll be left with is grief.
You will trade your recollection for your mind.
You will face a gaping hole where experience used to be.
There is sadness in forgetting, but you’ll regain yourself, too.
Pain fades and scars emerge.
It is slow but not gentle — unfortunately.
There is a price for everything. This, too.
That is why there is grief – you are better
and yet you cannot remember how or why.
It is quiet when you forget because
the silence is what remains. After.
The silence is a sorrow sonnet, reminding you not of what was lost
but instead of the fact that you lost it.
Say hello, though, now.
Introductions are my new saviors,
tiny initiations of person, place, and thing. Petrified and preserving,
I am returning. It is not so quiet.
Ashley Sapp resides in Columbia, South Carolina, with her husband and furbabies. She earned a Bachelor of Arts degree in English from the University of South Carolina in 2010 and has written for various publications. Her work has previously appeared in Indie Chick, The Daily Drunk Mag, All Female Menu, and the Common Ground Review. She is a bibliophile who enjoys traveling, tattoos, and photography. Ashley has written two poetry collections: Wild Becomes You and Silence Is A Ballad. Twitter: @ashthesapp