a year ago this evening, revisited

Nostalgia gives us permission
to forget some things,
or maybe just remember them
softly,
without the sharp edges
of recency.

Like this.

The real story is that
he screamed for hours on end.
He threw a whole bowl
of vegetable soup
on the floor
and when it splashed
on my pants I wanted to scream,
but but bit my tongue
(until days later
when we were in our own
home and out
of earshot).
He didn't so much fall asleep
as collapse
out of sheer exhaustion
and the undercurrent of fear
that lingered for weeks.

I can choose to say it was
beautiful now
(and it was)
but then it was so damn hard.