Recall Poem by James McLain

Each instant, each snap shot
going back
and being but one myself but only one,
I dont keep up with such things.
I know that when I no longer am,
what then would make each difference.
I can not remember it different
or wanting it to and if,
when shown some stranger in a photo album
that I would be told what then was my past to me.
Which is not how any one would wish to be now.
In this life weighing each experience
against the latter.
I doubt I would give up
the unique experience of being
mentally ill.
Life runs off fast enough as it is.
Even when less often than more
is the occasion, when I think about it.
Doing it would hurt.
Like that beautiful Hemingway's
daughters father.
I often think back to all the times
when it didn't hurt.
Only the first time, it was only my brain
being told what dream to chase
untill it had caught me over and over again.
If each of my mistakes was human,
the world would be twice as full as it is now.
An honest man would sleep there and die there.
The woman has never told me
that I again can recall,
though if she again did, I would,
I am certain I likely would recall it.







j.l.b.