Sufficient Memory


Cyberspace is separation.
Incredibly human at times,
but that’s a lie.
Nothing can
recall the way he tapped his pen on journal,
legs mancrossed, looking at something
but his thoughts far away.
Nothing can
replicate the way she gives herself to laughter,
smile lines evident, while at the same time
she has the curls of a little girl from the Idaho.
Nothing can
be the same as seeing her tilt her head down
and give the teacher look, blue eyes open wide,
to the person she’s on the phone with.
Nothing can
remind me as well of the grunt of a laugh
at never-ending sarcasm, or long black eye-lashes
so close to mine, or his warm hand on my leg
As a lack of cyberspace.
It thoroughly separates me from vivid flashbacks,
loved ones gone for a long, long while,
haunting until obscured by the sterile, lonely world
of spiders and robots, posts, blogs and vlogs
designed to bring humanity closer
with the cell-phone in hand,
the laptop in the bag,
the televisions in every room.
The cyberspace that I know,…
It annihilates.

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