A friend shared something private with me over lunch, and I joked about posting it as a haiku. Here goes! (Don't worry .. )
stored safely in my mem'ry.
No room for my own.
All my life, I have kept other people's secrets, and kept them so well. But my own secrets, the secrets of my childhood: they aren't here in this head, or if they are, they are stored somewhere else, out of my memory's reach. I pieced my childhood together from a bunch of birthday party photographs and other people's anecdotes.
But lately I find that the body remembers what the mind does not. I don't know which is worse.