Eileen Tabios

Dredging for Atlantis


[1]

I forgot when memory became a colander with generous holes.... I forgot 

not remembering that trembling seacoast city.... I forgot baby priests turning 

away to cast profiles forsworn to Donatello.... I forgot the errors in pretty 

miscalculations—monotone transformed to moonstone.... I forgot the wind 

stuffing headless birds and spermatozoa into fragile craters of a lassoed 

moon.... I forgot a breakfast of rain.... I forgot minarets growing within muddy 

whirlpools.... I forgot those dolls—for a moment, their eyes had relaxed.... I 

forgot kohl telling stories without words.... I forgot a coffin’s succoring bed.... I 

forgot how down covered her thighs.


[2]

I forgot when memory became a colander with generous holes.... I forgot baby 

priests turning away to cast profiles forsworn to Donatello.... I forgot a poem writ 

on the milk bill.... I forgot minarets growing within muddy whirlpools.... I forgot 

those dolls—for a moment, their eyes had relaxed.... I forgot cabs waiting as 

brandy cherries decomposed in sealed jars.... I forgot a coffin’s succoring bed.... 

I forgot a noonday cannon scattering pigeons.... I forgot her hobby of attending 

to death beds—afterwards, she always lusted for hotel lobbies stuffed with 

crystal chandeliers.


[3]

I forgot the Carrara defiled until a nude woman emerged—her magnificent 

breasts paled against the blank gaze of her stone eyes.... I forgot to nurture 

salvation’s seedlings.... I forgot the errors in pretty miscalculations—monotone

transformed to moonstone.... I forgot coaxing lullabys out of empty tin cans.... I 

forgot flabbergasted lions bred for locked jaws.... I forgot cabs waiting as brandy 

cherries decomposed in sealed jars.... I forgot a coffin’s succoring bed.... I forgot 

how down covered her thighs.... I forgot a noonday cannon scattering pigeons.


[4]

I forgot coaxing lullabys out of empty tin cans.... I forgot flabbergasted lions bred 

for locked jaws.... I forgot minarets growing within muddy whirlpools.... I forgot a 

lady in Florence, violets in her hair, who avoided sunlight.... I forgot virgins and 

children revealing their true nature by how they scratched themselves.... I forgot 

those dolls—for a moment, their eyes had relaxed.... I forgot kohl telling stories 

without words.... I forgot how down covered her thighs.... I forgot a noonday 

cannon scattering pigeons.


[5]

I forgot when memory became a colander with generous holes.... I forgot not 

remembering that trembling seacoast city.... I forgot the Carrara defiled until a 

nude woman emerged—her magnificent breasts paled against the blank gaze 

of her stone eyes.... I forgot baby priests turning away to cast profiles forsworn 

to Donatello.... I forgot he was the essence of licorice.... I forgot the errors in 

pretty miscalculations—monotone transformed to moonstone.... I forgot the wind 

stuffing headless birds and spermatozoa into fragile craters of a lassoed moon.... 

I forgot the sobs from an abandoned harem bringing down comets to accuse the 

alcove.... I forgot a breakfast of rain.... I forgot minarets growing within muddy 

whirlpools.


[6]

I forgot that piccola città replete with hyphens.... I forgot the Carrara defiled until 

a nude woman emerged—her magnificent breasts paled against the blank gaze 

of her stone eyes.... I forgot baby priests turning away to cast profiles forsworn to 

Donatello.... I forgot to nurture salvation’s seedlings.... I forgot coaxing lullabyes 

out of empty tin cans.... I forgot the sobs from an abandoned harem bringing 

down comets to accuse the alcove.... I forgot a breakfast of rain.... I forgot a 

poem writ on the milk bill.... I forgot virgins and children revealing their true 

nature by how they scratched themselves.... I forgot those dolls—for a moment, 

their eyes had relaxed.... I forgot a coffin’s succoring bed.


[7]

I forgot not remembering that trembling seacoast city.... I forgot the Carrara 

defiled until a nude woman emerged—her magnificent breasts paled against 

the blank gaze of her stone eyes.... I forgot to nurture salvation’s seedlings.... I 

forgot he was the essence of licorice.... I forgot the wind stuffing headless birds 

and spermatozoa into fragile craters of a lassoed moon.... I forgot a breakfast 

of rain.... I forgot virgins and children revealing their true nature by how they 

scratched themselves.... I forgot cabs waiting as brandy cherries decomposed in 

sealed jars.... I forgot a coffin’s succoring bed.... I forgot grey men fading as they 

fell to melt into grey stones.


[8]

I forgot not remembering that trembling seacoast city.... I forgot coaxing 

lullabys out of empty tin cans.... I forgot the wind stuffing headless birds and 

spermatozoa into fragile craters of a lassoed moon.... I forgot the sobs from 

an abandoned harem bringing down comets to accuse the alcove.... I forgot 

minarets growing within muddy whirlpools.... I forgot a lady in Florence, violets 

in her hair, who avoided sunlight.... I forgot kohl telling stories without words.... I 

forgot a coffin’s succoring bed.


***
***