My take on the founding fathers debacle is that you and I are more alike than I once supposed. We are both at this point in time somewhat stunned by life, but we know that even so, there are only two ways it can go. Both are pretty unspeakable, though one is definitely preferable, but if you are wondering why you will not know more until later, in fact, if you are wondering why you may never know more, I can tell you why: it is because, like most momentous events, these things can only be brushed up, switched around, and segmented into little pieces, and even then, in the long run, they come to get you, but by that point, for the most part, you are gone.

Someone, in general but not always, remembers you, but then again, in general, no one does. And then there is the ocean and the cliffs, and you forget why you’re here. And then there is the tiredness that involves wondering whether the world is tenderhearted.  

In truth, it’s probably not one way or the other, but that in of itself makes everything else more simple. The simplest version of things is that no one person can know everything, ever.

I do and I do and I do, but this thing I do doesn’t make me happy exactly. It’s not the same as watching Spanish soap operas or eating Breyer’s mint chocolate chip ice cream out of the blue clay bowl. No, this thing I do is simpler and more complicated all at once. But I suppose in truth, it is better than before, because before, I was ostensibly happiest when asleep.

But now I suppose you are wondering what it was like for me to forget, to forgive?

But you see, I haven’t a clue in the world. All I know is that a couple nights ago, we were walking at dusk through a park in Westerly, Rhode Island, and you were scared of getting lost and I was scared of getting mugged, but instead, we found a pondful of blooming water lilies. Now that’s what I call luck.

for JG

Anna Potter’s work has appeared in jubilat and on Poetry Daily. She received an MFA in fiction from the University of Wisconsin, and was the recipient of the James Merrill writer-in-residence residency for Spring 2007. She lives in the Hudson Valley with her husband and their beloved houseplant, Jade.