prosopagnosia

each night a diluted memory
infiltrates my dreams—you
catapult me to heaven
on the slat of a swing, shine
my wrists with oil from the oranges
in mum’s garden, soothe
every sulk with the best words,
the laughter that defines your face—
i don’t recall your face, i try
to remember but i only see
myself stretched out
on a rickety bunk bed
in a boarding school dorm
watching naked wires
flirt with a broken fan
on the soot coated ceiling
when they told me,

your cousin ate a gun

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