"I Have Kept A Journal For Years... "(Part Two) Poem by Daniel Brick

A Cycle of Poems

My soul writhed from morning to night,
in the mere quest of itself. I decided
therefore to be myself.
Samuel Beckett

(3)
I have kept a journal for years...
I have kept a journal for tears. Fortunately, tears
dry quickly, and a splash of water clears the red traces
and restores composure. What do you think? Should a journal
record all the bitter truths, or should it be an upbeat
account of the best of times? Wherein lies your peculiar art:
in fabrication or in truth-telling? Could you see yourself
doing both? Why not, a writer chooses his battles and
his ideals... What memory do I hold most tightly? Is it
the photo that preserves her luminous smile? Or is it
the time at the Conservatory when she lost all restraint,
and I watched her, bereft and crying, half-hidden
by a wall of humid ferns? Or is it the summer day
I darkened when I confessed to my sister the whole story,
the whole truth? Just last week I suddenly remembered
pressuring Shirley to admit her grief over a white lie,
and then being unable to console her. I know somewhere
in my journal these shames reside. No subterfuge
can absolve me, or make me forget. This is me and
the man I pretend to be. "Hey, you, yes, you, we have
to talk... "