I think I’m starting to forget
I’ve already forgotten whether she liked
Apples or grapes, or both,
If she laughed at fart jokes
If she preferred dresses to pants,
Her favorite song,
How many times we played dress-up
If she could read well,
Did she ever want to be a princess?
Did we ever tell her about Santa Claus?
Did she laugh the day we lost her?
God, I can’t even remember her laugh.
I can her bits of her voice if I think about it.
This stupid little rap we made up once
“Going to the bookstore, yo yo
Going to the bookstare, yeah yeah!”
She’d by nine by now, no—ten
I can remember her favorite color was pink.
But that’s only because that was the only thing I could see
Beneath the van.
And if it weren’t for the pictures around the house,
I’d forget what she looked like, too.