Forget the Cheese

I do not remember the first time I tasted Swiss cheese,

Poking my tongue through the flexible eyelets 

Left behind from living gases. 

However, that would be a remarkable memory--

One that I would like to recall.

Nor do I remember the first time I rode a bicycle

Without training wheels.

But I do remember that the bicycle was purple,

And that I was very afraid 

That my father would let go of the white banana seat.

Or was it yellow?

Other things I do not remember include:

The first time I made my mother cry--

Nor when she pulled my first tooth and made me cry--

Learning how to write in cursive,

Unhooking my first fish,

Cutting my fingertips on sharp, tiny teeth.

But there are things I do remember, vividly:

Placing a band-aid on an earthworm I had cut in two pieces,

Drawing hand puppets on my fist in first grade,

Twirling my feet in the long, twisted phone cord

While my mother gossiped on Tuesday mornings,

Lost in conversation.

I also remember pulling a Morel from moist, brown soil:

My father found it first, and he had stopped me

From crushing it with my small foot.

I remember stealing a discarded cigarette from the side of a road,

And smoking it in a toolshed with my best friend.

The smoke poured out in giant white clouds.

What memories are left live in spaces I do not frequent.

They are immovable, yet most certainly suspect:

Stealing eggs from my grandmother's henhouse,

Splatting them against the grey wood of the weathered barn,

Yolks running in viscous rivulets.

My brother did it first.

But I do not remember poking my fingers through the holes of Swiss cheese

Past my knuckles to the palm,

Wiggling four fingers like a puppeteer,

And biting around the edges till no cheese remained, only fingers

In the empty spaces. 

I can not remember this,

But I would like to.