Remember this when names won’t come easily:
the patch of green too narrow for houses,
viewed from an upstairs window;
a flit of yellowhammers at year’s turning,
the long view east, milk-souring suns,
far unmeasured mornings. Remember these
when your name moves beyond you
like the sun behind a house.
Ted Mc Carthy is a poet and translator living in Clones, Ireland. His work has appeared in magazines in Ireland, the UK, Germany, the USA, Canada and Australia. He has had two collections published, ‘November Wedding’, and ‘Beverly Downs’. His work can be found on www.tedmccarthyspoetry.weebly.com.
Foxglove Journal 
It’s said of declarative memory, that it goes first. Procedural memory, that which you burn to neurons while riding a bike, or smacking a golf ball, stays till the end. But I doubt that the memory of those trips among the Marin hills would be wagered against the ability to circle the block still balanced.
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