Forgetfulness, by Billy Collins
The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of,
as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
Long ago you kissed the names of the nine muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,
something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.
Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue
or even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.
It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.
No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.
A Fondness For Reading 
This is so beautiful and so relatable!
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Exactly my thought, too, Marlo!
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Very touching, and yet still has humor.
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Nan, I definitely haven’t read enough of Billy Collins! I loved this one and must read more of his poetry!
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I just love his poems. Thank you for sharing this one!
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Iliana, I need to read more of his poetry!
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I’m new to this poet – oh, I had “heard” of him, but hadn’t really experienced his poems. I now think he’s terrific. 🙂
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Care, same here. I knew about him but hadn’t read many of his poems. This one just spoke to me, and now I’m inspired to read more of is work.
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