Forever Temporary

Memory’s overly binary,
Binning into bad or good in time.
That’s grandma over the mantelpiece,

Said a nephew referring to ash,
Dead two years later in a car crash,
Who spent the evening discussing cars,

Which makes and models he wished he had,
While we shared terrible lasagna.
It’s a valuable memory, since

It hasn’t settled so easily
Into a glow or a smudge, a wince
Or a nostalgic smile. It’s tangled

In ordinariness and what seems
From just the right narrative angle
Like a kind of fate. It was okay.