A Very Tenuous Grasp of History by Joanne Esser

Photo by Andrew Seaman on Unsplash

I am at the point where it is hard to remember precisely when things happened. Or in what order. I am not good with dates, never have been, will over- or hugely under-estimate how long it has been since ______ . Even when the events were of great significance: A birth. A death. The day I met the person who is literally the most important individual in my life. They blend together, months and years, jumble around. Most often I recall a scent, or the weather that day, if there was snow on the ground yet or if we were wearing shorts.

In real life things do not march in orderly lines toward their conclusions. Some effects have no causes, some causes no direct consequences. You let go of blame over time. This happened, and this, but one did not bring the other into being. Like husbands, arguments, kisses. Like departures that in retrospect seem just natural next steps in the walk of life. I carved a pumpkin out of habit, will hang up the stockings when the calendar says it is time. Were my parents still alive when my niece was born, the young woman who is now planning her wedding? I did not know about my ex-husband’s heart attack until months later. He could have died. But he didn’t. And I met him in the produce aisle one day by chance, heard the whole story. And then have not seen him once since. What are the odds for anything? Everything seems to happen at once, and I still wake up the next morning unprepared. I put a clock in every room, yet am surprised that the hands keep turning.

---

Joanne Esser is the author of the poetry collection Humming At The Dinner Table, the chapbook I Have Always Wanted Lightning, and the forthcoming All We Can Do Is Name Them, (Fernwood Press, 2024). Recent work appears in Echolocation, I-70 Review, Wisconsin Review, and Plainsongs. She earned an MFA from Hamline University and has been a teacher of young children for over forty years.