Reader Submissions

Well-Known Corners of the People


Lawdenmarc Decamora

There is a kind of love called amnesia

which checks the insurance and doesn’t 

remember the migrations of birds,

which registers forgetting 

like the brains of chimps 

donated to science, which stores

forgiving and knows when to free

the flame from long-ago rooms. 

This kind of love offers a truce

that will burst the bubble

as honest as it hurts hitting

the funny bone. But you deserve

peace in the east and west,

a Eucharist beyond the government’s

calamity loans. You deserve it,

euphoria that glows only for you

every time sunshine goose-steps

across your bedroom floor. 

And this kind of love can re-invent

you and me, like old devices

in the attic in this time of pandemic. 

You know I adore the parts

of the house where closed doors

allow distancing. This is 

when logic follows the law. 

But I miss you and there’s no more 

logic to which I’m committed.

I’ll just dig a tunnel from my window 

to yours. This architecture of ours!