I forgot the prairie because it stood
so still. I forgot the clouds because
they were always moving. I forgot
the taste of water because it lay quietly
inside the taste of everything.

I forgot a childhood when it disappeared
through a hole in itself. Later, mushrooms
emerged from the damp soil.

The way to keep something is to forget it.
Then it goes to an enormous place.

Grass grows to the horizon like hair.
In the sky the clouds go on naming
and unnaming themselves.

– Jenny George

Source: Mnemonic – Gulf Coast: A Journal of Literature and Fine Arts