Note to Self

You will forget who Maya Angelou was.

You will not remember if you already had breakfast today, searching for clues in the dishwasher.

You will not understand your grandchildren’s chatter around the Christmas tree.

You will not recall having visited Florence.

You will not notice that the sweater you are wearing carries traces of egg yolk and other past meals.

You will keep forgetting what day of the week it is.

But you will rejoice with the warmth of spring sunshine on your face

The smell of lavender seeds crushed between the tips of your fingers.

You will smile remembering how the first time you made love everything turned purple inside your head.

You will remember your family was safe the day the bomb exploded.

You will recall the time you crossed the Ponte Vecchio bridge with your husband on a bike.

You will be filled with joy re-living the day your son was born weighing over four kilos. It was quite a feat.

You will evoke your father’s enormous dark hands holding your face.

How he taught you the Latin origin of the Spanish word recordar: to bring back to one’s heart.

You will remember caressing your golden retriever, the love released with each stroke.

You will wonder who wrote these lines.

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