Forgetting and remembering

Two great poets, juxtaposed. The first is Rupi Kaur, the second is Amy Glynn (writing in prose). Both tackling the same issue.

It is said that the human body replaces 100% of its cells over the course of one year, which suggests we could literally become someone else in 365 days. But apoptosis is devilishly intelligent, cell death is staggered, and every cell has a replacement waiting and it’s sort of a master-apprentice deal or something, because the new guy remembers all the tricks of the retired one. My body has not learned how to be without you. It has a profound learning disability and a major attitude problem where you are concerned, buddy, and it refuses to learn that. It keeps putting one foot numbly in front of the other and asking again and again when you’re coming home. It clings to the cell phone and waits for lines from you to light up the screen. It seeks you like a lab rat pushing a button for sugar. It wakes up amazed that it is without you. It shuts down at night, exhausted from longing for you. We are a long way from each other now and it makes no difference; in my mind I am still, will always be, looking around every corner hoping you’ll be there, hoping you’ll say: “I’m sorry; I’m ready to be happy now.” [Amy Glynn, Desire Lines]