Amnesiac Poem by Mark Osaki

For awhile I too was haunted by
memories of your frightened faces
as we hovered nearby, shooting
warning tracers above your heads.
It was amazing—you thought waving
American flags would save you.

We had other rooftops to fly to.
Coming back from the last one
we saw the fire you had set as a beacon.
We couldn’t help it. We laughed.

The cries and curses you threw up
into that sky were instantly
drowned out and chopped up
by bladed arks already flying away.

I am among my own now, who do not
worship stones or rivers, or impute
to them a memory of any kind.
What does not perish here by forgetting
survives only in the occasional bad dream.

We wake up each morning to a new history.
We don’t know if we remember.