My Daughter Never Tires Of

My Daughter Never Tires Of

My daughter never tires of

Whatever happened long ago

As she asks me about the stuff

Supposedly that I may know;

But, due to my forgetfulness

Of whatever’s occurred to me,

What I remember is much less

Than ought to be in memory.

So when she asks me all I do,

Is, wondering if it occurred,

I think about what happened to

Me as I look up ceiling-ward,

Although I am not sure about

The incidents that after all,

Are not so clear if they fell out

The way I’m able to recall;

For they seem to be, as it were,

A matter, more likely, of what

I might imagine should occur—

Whether it did so or did not—

Whilst I am really never sure

Of how to tell about the stuff

That is of great import to her

And which she never tires of;

But what bothers me most of all

Is when she asks me of her past

Of which, when I cannot recall,

Since my impression didn’t last,

It’s like I let her down because

I’m what she’s to depend upon;

My memories become her loss—

Our past together then is gone;

And yet she doesn’t cease to ask

Me questions anyway instead,

While she assigns to me the task

That’s reaffirming our thread;

So, circumstance cannot unbind,

Though memory is subject to,

What she reminds me we can find

We have in common to renew.